Unthinkable
by Calim1
Summary: A tragic accident pushes Grissom to his limits.
1. Chapter 1

_I wasn't sure how to rate this story. Below I've chosen PG-13 which would lead me to a T rating here. No violence is written about but there are strong emotions evoked because of the accident mentioned in the summary that may not be suitable for younger children._

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**Unthinkable**

by Susan Dietz (Calim1)  
Rating and Reader Alerts: PG-13  
Category: GG/SS/DRA/AU

Summary: A tragic accident pushes Grissom to his limits.

_Author's Note: Angst, angst, angst. Memories are in italics._

_© September 2010_

_Feedback is appreciated_

_Disclaimer: The characters and general situations in this story are the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer, however I reserve the rights to the specific details. It is not my intention to infringe upon their rights; this story is purely for the enjoyment of fans. Please do not redistribute in any form._

by Susan Dietz

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**Chapter 1 – Oh, God**

It was a bad scene. Nine bodies in all strewn about a warehouse, each riddled with bullet holes. Blood was everywhere, guns were everywhere and the media was everywhere. The Sheriff had already made an appearance and CSI Lab Director, Conrad Ecklie, was on site taking his directing job very seriously.

"Catherine! What took you so long?" he bellowed across the warehouse to the strawberry blonde sashaying her way out of the late afternoon sun and into the warehouse.

Prying off her sunglasses Catherine Willows barely looked at the man as she surveyed the surroundings.

"There was an accident. I got caught in traffic."

"That's what those flashers are for on your vehicle," he snidely remarked as she set down her kit next to fellow CSI Nick Stokes.

"No shit," she answered under her breath causing Nick to hide a smirk as he placed another marker next to another bullet casing before snapping a photo. "Where's everyone?" she asked as she pulled on a pair of gloves.

"Warrick's out back, Greg is in the office and Grissom is in the corner over there, staring at the wall. He's been doing that for the past hour."

"Where's Sara?"

"She's on her way," Nick informed her looking at his watch. "Actually she should've been here by now."

"Maybe she called Grissom," she said.

"He seems a bit distracted," Nick added.

"And that's new?"

Nick grinned. "More than usual. He's been that way for about an hour. I'm starting to get worried."

Catherine nodded and watched Gil Grissom noting the slumped shoulders; the way his eyes couldn't seem to stay focused and wondered if he and Sara had had a fight. She shrugged. He'd never admit it so she decided to let it go.

"Where do you need me?"

"There's another room off the warehouse to the left. We found one body in there but no gun."

"Sounds like a challenge," she said grabbing her kit and moving off.

"Have fun," Nick called after her as he placed another marker and took another photo before glancing once again at his boss.

Grissom was a man of concentration, renown for it as a matter of fact, but not today. Something was jerking his attention from the odd blood spatter that didn't match where the body lay at his feet and sending sparks of worry through him. Rolling his shoulders, he forced himself to zero in on what was here and the puzzle that surrounded him.

The victim was about 4'11" with one gunshot wound. It appeared, at first glance, that he'd been shot at point blank range. But the blood spatter, arching at a 5'6" height, wasn't in the right area of the wall in contrast to where the body lay. There were no other bodies near this one, no lingering pool of red to announce a victim that had either been removed or had moved of its own accord and no bullet casings nearby.

A perplexed look crossed his handsome features but immediately disappeared to be replaced with surprise as an intense feeling of dread overcame him. He stepped back and touched the wall to steady himself. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a shiver of alarm tease every nerve ending. Quickly glancing around, narrowed eyes took in each face, each person, to see what was making him hyper alert. He centered on Nick who was giving him an odd look and slowly rising to his feet.

"You okay, boss?"

Grissom blinked and said nothing, a movement out of the corner of his eye pulling his attention to Captain Jim Brass running toward the warehouse. His stomach clenched and his heart began to thud.

Brass never ran unless it was something bad.

His mind went into overload. Maybe it was his mother. Perhaps she'd taken ill and he would need to leave. Could it be another crime scene worse than this? What it if was Hank? He mentally shook his head. Why would his dog sitter call Brass and not him?

And then he stiffened and his blood ran cold.

That left only one other.

Jim Brass ignored everyone and everything else as he made a beeline toward the warehouse, eyes zeroing in on Grissom who was already facing him. He slowed his steps to give him time to school his features, realizing he'd failed when panicked blue eyes met his as he came to a stop.

"Sara?" Grissom asked before Brass could open his mouth, both hearing the shakiness in his voice. His breath hitched at the pained expression the captain gave him. "Oh, God."

"She's at Desert Palm. Let's go."

Grissom held Brass's intense gaze for just a moment, not even bothering to ask how bad, for he already knew just before he started running for their cars.

Nick watched the exchange between the two then caught the look of pure panic on Grissom's face as he flew out of the warehouse.

"Grissom never runs," he muttered, his own feelings of unease seeping in when he spied his boss's silver kit left behind near the blood spattered wall.

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_Chapter 1 of 9 + an Epilogue. This WIP is complete but being finalized chapter by chapter. Reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. It does my heart good. I'm so glad you like this. Just remember my A/N at the beginning - angst, angst, angst. It gets started here._

_Note: Memories are in italics_

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**Chapter 2 - Waiting**

Grissom hurt.

His head hurt - his eyes hurt - his back hurt from the tension that held him rigid. His leg bounced as nerves got the better of him and he forced himself to count the pock marks in the ceiling tile for the fourth time. When that was done he prowled the waiting room examining the wall hangings three separate times then dissected the paintings by counting each brush stroke until he thought he'd go insane, settling in next to the aquarium to count air bubbles in hopes of lowering his raging blood pressure before moving to his feet again.

They'd arrived at the hospital 20 minutes after Brass had come for him and headed straight to the ER only to find Sara had been rushed into surgery. Social Services provided little or no information to his myriad of questions except that there had been a car accident and Sara had been brought in with another woman.

As each of his questions were met with an "I'm sorry, that's all the information I have", the fist that seemed to have grabbed hold of his heart clutched even tighter causing him to hyperventilate. A paper bag appeared and after blowing into it for a good ten minutes, his breathing was good enough for Brass to take him up to the surgical ward keeping a firm grip on his arm the whole way. After depositing him in the waiting room, Brass disappeared to find answers and inform the team of Sara's accident.

That had been a good hour and a half ago and after three cups of half drunk stale coffee and leaping to his feet every time a person in scrubs appeared, Grissom found himself once again next to the aquarium staring at the fish swimming back and forth. The repetitive sound of the air filter began to penetrate his overtaxed brain and he found himself thinking of a day, not too long ago, when both he and Sara found themselves at the Shark Reef Aquarium at Mandalay Bay – her hand softly rubbing his back; her head laying on his shoulder.

"_It must be nice to just swim around all day long and sun yourself on a rock," she said as his arm snuck around her waist._

"_And wait for the great big fish to eat you." He felt her chuckle._

"_You just ruined a pleasant scene." _

_He smiled. "Well, instead of being one of those little fish let's be sharks. All they do is eat, sleep and make little sharks and no one bothers them."_

"_Except us."_

"_Except us," he nodded. "But think of what we'd have. The big wide open ocean to explore. Just the two of us. We'd be able to take our time to investigate all the ins and outs of the ocean without anyone bothering us. It all seems very . . . restful." His tone was wistful and he felt her eyes on him and turned. "What?"_

_ "Are you okay?" she asked._

_ He continued to look at her then gave her a peck on the lips. "I'm just tired." She frowned. "Too many doubles and triples."_

_ "Amen to that," she answered with a sigh. "But soon we will be going to California to visit your mom and we can sit at the beach all day long and not worry about a thing except what kind of ice cream we'll have each night."_

_ He smiled at that. "And whether or not we sleep 'til noon."_

_ "Or get out of bed at all," she said with a waggle of her brows._

_ His eyes sparkled at the thought and so did hers. He couldn't begin to express to her how much he loved her so kissed her instead then hugged her to him, never wanting to let her go._

Grissom blinked when a clown fish smacked the aquarium glass pulling his focus from the memory. That had only been last week. Their trip was scheduled for next week.

How could their lives change so much in seven days?

"Excuse me," came a soft voice from behind making him jump then turn, eyes alighting on an unfamiliar woman with puffy red eyes and a Kleenex clutched in her hand.

"Yes?" he said rising to his feet.

"I'm Daphne Gilman. Marcie is my daughter," she began while he frowned, his mind trying to figure out why she would be telling him this. "Are you Sara's Gil?"

His brow cleared and he stood a bit straighter. "I am." Nerves attacked him.

"My husband, Ben, and I are sitting over there," she pointed behind her, "awaiting word. I wasn't sure it was you or I would've come over earlier," she explained.

He looked closely at her, could see the same fear he felt, but didn't understand why she was here.

"I'm sorry," he began confusion clear on his face, "but what does Marcie . . . Is Marcie here, too?"

Daphne frowned then looked shocked. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" There was that fist again.

"Marcie was in the car with Sara. She was dropping her off at work."

Grissom clutched at her arms. "Did you see Sara? How badly was she hurt? Did she say anything?"

"No, no I didn't see her."

Daphne cringed at the look on his face. The hope that had flickered briefly was gone and he let her go, leaning dejectedly against the wall. She placed a hand on his arm.

"I'm sure she'll be fine. They have very good doctors here." All he could do was nod. "If you'd like to sit with us we're just over there," she pointed, weary eyes looking up at her.

He knew he wasn't the best company at present but didn't really want to be alone and these people at least knew Sara. He gave her another nod and she smiled. Gathering up his jacket, he slowly followed Daphne seeing a tall man rising from his chair ahead of them.

"This is my husband, Ben," Daphne introduced as Grissom took his outstretched hands.

"Gil Grissom."

"I've heard a lot about you from Marcie," Ben said with a slight smile.

"Probably all bad," he answered taking a seat next to Daphne.

"On the contrary," Ben said as he, too, sat. "She told me she hopes to find a man just like you one day to whisk her off her feet and make her deliriously happy just like Sara."

A surprised look crossed Grissom's face, then he blushed and looked away. Running a hand over trembling lips he basked for a moment in those words. Sara was deliriously happy.

So was he.

"I hope the same," was all he could say as he sucked in a breath and pondered the design in the carpet.

"Your Sara and our Marcie really enjoy each other's company," Daphne said to fill the quiet space.

Grissom nodded. "Sara tells me she's a good student."

"Straight A's," Ben said with pride.

"She also enjoyed the lecture you gave at UNLV last year," Daphne added. "Said it opened her eyes to bugs. She has her own tarantula now," she said with a shiver.

"Herbie," Ben interjected.

Daphne nodded. "She loves him to death. She even calls to check on him when she's going to be late. That's why I was worried today when she . . . ."

Her voice trailed off when she realized what she was about to say and shared a glance with her husband taking his offered hand. Grissom watched them wanting so to take Sara's hand within his own, to feel that bit of comfort that had gotten him through so many things over the years. He clutched his jacket tighter. The air seemed to be getting warmer and grabbing at his breath.

"Ah, excuse me for a moment," he hastily said rising swiftly to his feet. "I'll be . . . I'll be right back."

They nodded after him as he hurried down the corridor behind them coming to a stop in front of a long bank of windows in an open area that overlooked Vegas at dusk. Wrapping arms about himself, he felt a touch of air as it flowed from the vents above and gathered up as much as he could to fill his empty lungs.

"Sara," he whispered.

Her touch, her scent, how her hair felt as it slipped through his fingers battered at his brain. Her skin, so soft, caressing him, rubbing against him was enough to make him lose all awareness. How he coveted that feeling now as he stood here in solitude staring out at the sun as it slowly dipped out of sight turning the sky a rusty orange and sending everything into shadows and darkness as the first stars began to shine.

"_Until I met you," Sara began, "I never looked at the stars."_

"_You're kidding?" he said aghast at her confession._

"_Nope. Didn't see the need. They were too far away to touch; they couldn't give me any of the answers to my questions and none of my wishes came true."_

_He kept quiet looking back at the vast blanket of stars that twinkled above then turned on his side and grasped her hand, waiting for her to look at him._

"_My wishes came true," he said looking deeply into her eyes. "Without you there would be no stars for me, no need to linger under them for very long. 'If I could but reach up and hold a star for every time you've made me smile, the entire evening sky would be in the palm of my hand.'"_

_He could see her eyes glisten in the moonlight then she was in his arms and he held on tightly._

"_I think I have a new hobby – stargazing," she whispered in his ear just before kissing his cheek._

"_I love you, Sara, more than you'll ever know."_

"_I love you more," she whispered into his neck making him smile._

A hand made its way onto his shoulder and he nearly leaped out of his skin, all color leaving his face when he spied a white coat then realized it was Catherine. He stumbled back onto the long bench that ran under the windows, dropping his head into his hands.

"Jesus, Catherine."

"I'm sorry, Gil," she said quickly sitting next to him. "I called your name."

"I-I didn't hear you," he answered.

"It's okay," she said covering his shoulders with her arm, gently rubbing his back.

He shook his head. "No, no it's not. I can't lose her, Catherine. She's my life. What am I going to do if . . ."

"There are no if's, Gil," Catherine sternly gave him. "There are only the smiles you will see when she wakes up to see you there."

"Catherine . . ."

"I don't believe in a lot of things," she confessed, "but I do believe in one thing. Sara will fight the Devil himself to stay here with you. You must believe that, too."

He swallowed repeatedly to press down the lump in his throat. "I pray for it," he admitted. "Every passing second. But the longer it takes . . . "

Catherine remained silent knowing this quiet man next to her was doing his best to hold it together but the fraying edges were becoming visible and it hurt her heart even more.

"The team sends their love. They're still at the scene from this afternoon. Ecklie won't let them leave. Something about a police commissioner's son or something and all hands on deck," she said with a shrug. "I snuck out and Jim told him to stick it . . . or words to that effect." She continued to rub Grissom's back. "They hate the fact that they can't be here with you."

Grissom nodded. On the one hand he was thankful they weren't there. He didn't know how long he could suffer their anguished looks. But on the other, it helped to have those around who knew Sara, who could offer up more hope than he could at, perhaps, the moment she needed it. Power in numbers as it were.

Catherine studied her friend not liking the pallor of his skin or the shaking of his hands as they ran through his hair. She could feel him trembling beneath her touch and she just wanted this to be over for all their sakes but especially his. They'd taken so long to find each other and to have one or the other ripped away so soon wasn't how it was supposed to end. At least she was here. Hearing her name she was pulled from her thoughts to find Brass coming toward them, an uncomfortable look on his face. She kept silent as he sat next to Grissom.

"I haven't been able to find out anything except that Sara's still in surgery," he began. "All my best glares were ignored. These nurses are tough." He gave his friend a bit of a smile that quickly faded when Grissom's only response was to close his eyes. Brass shared a glance with Catherine and decided to continue. "Gil, I just spoke to the doc down in the ER. They brought in the man who caused the accident."

"What did he say?" he asked without raising his head. Brass hesitated and looked away. The silence made Grissom look up and stare at the captain. "What did he say?" he repeated.

Brass cleared his throat then looked directly at Grissom. "He didn't say anything. Apparently, he had a heart attack while driving, lost control of his car and died on route to the hospital."

Catherine gasped and squeezed Grissom tighter when she felt him tense, watching as Brass looked away then placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.

Senseless. It was all so senseless. Sara was in the hospital because she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was possibly fighting for her life because of a heart that died and taken its owner with it. It wasn't something inanimate like a rock or a hole in the street – something that just was. No, it was an organic object attached to a person who'd not had the decency to live long enough to swerve out of the way. And because of that Grissom had no one to vent his anger and frustration on, no one to remind what was taken from him. No one to blame.

No one.

Rubbing his forehead, he shook his head. He couldn't think on that anymore. It was a waste of energy that was sorely needed elsewhere to get her back to him. He could deal with everything else once she was home and safe and back in his arms. Quickly, he stood, feeling Catherine's hand leave his arm.

"Gil?" she said to his back as she rose with him.

"I need to – need to get back," he vaguely said, "in case there's news."

With that he walked away, his gait slow and his eyes staring at the carpet not even aware that his friends followed silently behind, each clutching the other's arms for support.

As he entered the waiting room Grissom spied the Gilman's sitting quietly and made his way toward them, catching Ben's eye as he neared then the shake of his head. No news.

No news is good news.

Not necessarily.

Sitting himself down opposite them, Grissom rested his head on a hand and rubbed at his scalp to work away the headache that was rapidly increasing in size. If he focused on that perhaps he'd be able to ignore the rising tide of emotions that were threatening to overtake him. Nothing would be gained, he knew, if he lost control except to embarrass himself and give Sara something to tease him about. A moment of surprise filled him when he felt the corner of his mouth tug at the thought of her standing in front of him, a slight smirk on her beautiful face, eyes dancing with delight at his discomfort as he'd seen many times before.

"_I know what you're doing," he said not even bothering to turn around._

"_And how can you be sure if you don't look?" she asked in the playful tone he found quite endearing._

"_Let's see," he began continuing to chop vegetables for their salad. "First off you're smirking and your lips are stuck so far out to keep yourself from laughing that a bird could land on them." She giggled at that and he continued. "Second you're leaning, thinking it makes you look nonchalant but, in fact, speaks to the fact that there is nothing nonchalant about the impending teasing I will suffer from for at least a week."_

"_At least," she admitted. "And third? There's always a third."_

_He grinned. "And third, I deserve whatever it is that you'll toss my way if for no other reason than to remind me why I try to keep my emotions in check when faced with what I perceive to be stupidity. My own most of the time."_

_He stopped in mid-chop when her hands came around his waist, her chin propped on his shoulder as she hugged him tightly._

"_You are _not_ stupid."_

"_What would you call it?" he asked still smarting at the result of his loud, loose tongue._

"_Excitable? High strung? Impulsive? Reckless?"_

"_Impulsive? Reckless? I think you're talking about Greg."_

_She laughed. "Well, maybe you're right. But you can't deny that you're excitable. I've seen you when we go to the butterfly exhibit. You're like a little kid."_

"_And high strung?"_

"_Only in a good way like when you chase me through the house after I show off my new lingerie." She grinned against his shoulder and he shrugged._

"_Okay, I'll give you that."_

"_I also think you're passionate, caring, sexy, gorgeous."_

_He smiled. "Don't stop."_

_She laughed and kissed his neck. "I will say that you have a wide variety of curses that blew my hair back. I knew a bunch of sailors in Frisco that would blush at what I heard. Who knew an entomologist knew such things."_

"_You learn many things while hunting for bugs," he answered pulling up one of her hands to kiss its back. "I'm sorry, Sara, if I embarrassed you."_

"_You surprised me but you didn't embarrass me. It was actually incredibly hot to have you defend my honor even though it was a bit misplaced."_

"_I think I scared the poor man."_

"_He did run into the bathroom after you threatened to make him piss out of his ass."_

"_God," he said with a shake of his head, laying the knife flat on the cutting board, trying to ignore the memory of the abject fear on the man's face. _

_She let go of him and turned him around, taking his face in her hands._

"_You are what every woman wants. A man who will defend her honor whether he's right or not. It's nothing to be ashamed of and I love you all the more for it."_

_ She kissed him then, a light peck, and he pulled her close._

_ "Of course that doesn't mean I _won't_ be teasing you," she whispered to him._

_ "For at least a week."_

_ "For a least a week," she repeated as he started to laugh._

Such a pleasant thought flitted away when he felt someone take his hand. Glancing sideways a smiling Catherine came into view and he squeezed back. It wasn't Sara but, at least, it was someone who could give him strength and keep him from going off the deep end.

At least for now.

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_Okay, there you have Chapter 2. I hope you like it. Please review. It makes me happy! Chapter 3 in 2 days._


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you again for all your encouraging reviews. It makes me grin. Remember, memories are in italics.  
_

_WARNING: You are about to step aboard the trauma train with our own Gil Grissom. Fasten your seatbelts and keep your arms inside the coach._

_Onward!_

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**Chapter 3 – What am I going to do?**

The ticking of the clock seemed to fill the room with such a noise that it was almost deafening. Grissom could hear it over the television that was being ignored and the constant chatter of nurses and aides walking from station to station along with the clatter of beds, gurneys and equipment being moved. He covered his ears in a vain attempt to block it out wishing, for a brief moment, that he was deaf for then he might be able to find some sort of respite from the constant noise that bombarded him aggravating his ever growing headache.

It had been five hours. Five hours of nothing but agonizing, fretful worry that was eating away at his gut and his mind. Somebody needed to tell him something fast or the cork he'd so carefully placed over his emotions would soon pop because Catherine's vigilance was quickly losing its power over him. Brass, who'd been in and out unable to remove himself completely from the grisly scene of that afternoon, wasn't doing much better. They were getting antsy and that wasn't doing anything but working its way onto the last of Grissom's frayed nerves. He had to think on something else - anything to pull his fixating mind out of the dark and thunderous thoughts that threatened to pull him under.

Closing his eyes the first thing that came to mind was the smiling face of Hank, their lovable sweet boxer, who was always there for the both of them, always ready to make them feel better after a bad day. He never asked for anything except to be fed and loved in return and, oh, how Grissom wished he was here now, standing at his feet, leaning into his legs, gazing up at him with adoring eyes.

_ "I can't believe it," Sara said as she hid her smile behind a hand across her mouth._

_ "What?" Grissom innocently asked as he looked up at her._

_ "The two of you," was all she said._

_ Grissom frowned and glanced to his right. Hank glanced to his left. They both looked back at Sara._

_ "What?" She burst out laughing and ran from the room. "What's so funny?" he asked of Hank who tilted his head then turned from Grissom to watch his mama come running back into the room, a camera at the ready._

_ "Say cheese," she said as both Grissom and Hank looked at her then blinked rapidly at the flash._

_ "What's so funny?" he asked again as she handed him the camera._

_ "There is a theory," she began sitting on the arm of the couch, "that owners and their pets start to look like each other after awhile."_

_ He squinted at her then pulled his glasses from atop his head, looking at the photo of the two of them – man and dog - sitting in like positions, both with bemused looks on their faces. A gruff look crossed his features just before he showed the picture to Hank who leaned over and licked Grissom's face. Handing the camera back to Sara, he picked up his crossword book and remained quiet._

_ Sara waited for some response then the thought occurred that she might've hurt his feelings. Her finger headed for the delete button._

_ "I don't drool," Grissom finally said waiting a moment before glancing over his glasses at her. "Other than that, I can see the resemblance." _

_ A big smile broke out on her face as she slid into his lap._

_ "Please don't post that at the lab," he begged as he hugged her to him. "I'm still not over the cherry coke incident."_

_ "No promises."_

_ "What if I give you a Hank patented puppy dog look?" he asked pulling out all the stops._

_ Sara pursed her lips and ran fingers through his hair, turning to the couch's other occupant. "Hank, you're a bad influence."_

_ Grissom smiled at her then let her kiss him over and over again._

He winced. The purpose of this was to _not_ think about Sara but each thought he brought up gave him memory after memory of the wonderful woman in his life. Shaking his head he made himself think of something else, something not at all Sara.

Jim Brass.

A force to be reckoned with, the police captain could assess and command a situation in seconds flat; had the respect of the men under him and the friendship of both he and Sara. A big grizzly bear one moment and cuddly teddy bear the next, Brass was a friend above all else willing to share the load if necessary and set you straight if need be.

"_Do you love her?" Brass stated glaring at his friend, ignoring the startled look in those blue eyes. "It's a simple question, Gil."_

"_Yes," was all he said but his mind filled in the blanks - thoroughly, meticulously, completely, absolutely, always and forever. "Yes, I do," he said with more authority._

"_And have you told her that?" came the next question._

_Grissom nodded. "Yes."_

"_And what did she say?"_

"_She said she loved me, too," he said softly not looking at his friend._

"_Then what's the problem?" Brass asked._

_Grissom shrugged. "Why?"_

"_Why what?" Brass asked, thoroughly confused._

"_Why would she love me? I'm . . ."_

"_Odd, strange, peculiar, weird, buggy." He stopped at the annoyed look on Grissom's face. _

"_I was going to say I'm not very flexible."_

"_An old fuddy-duddy," Brass added with slight nod of his head._

"_No," Grissom huffed. "I've been a bachelor for so long; I love bugs; I can't get enough of Shakespeare; I have zero social skills. What does she see in me that I can't?"_

_Brass held his next quip realizing that his friend was in the middle of an actual dilemma and leaned forward._

"_Gil, Gil, Gil," he started with a shake of his head. "You are every woman's dream. You're good looking and don't know it. You're brilliant but don't show off. You care deeply despite what you present to the world and you don't go after fame. And when you love someone, you love all of them." He smiled. "Sara is one lucky lady to be so loved. Just remember to not only tell her but show her as well. Words and actions go together, my friend. Don't ever forget that."_

"_Hey," came Sara's voice as she ducked her head inside Brass's office, glancing at Grissom. "You ready?" He nodded as he stood._

"_Words and actions," Brass repeated._

"_Thanks, Jim," Grissom said with a grin taking hold of Sara's hand as he neared then led her out the door. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"_

Well, that didn't help as Grissom wiped at his eyes damning these memories that lifted him up and dropped him into a pit the moment they ended. Maybe Catherine could help. His memories of her included everything the woman had ever done. It never ceased to amaze him what she would tell him at the drop of a hat making him blush more than once. But she was a stalwart friend, someone he could rely on if there was ever a problem; someone who would help him if and when he asked which was few and far between; someone who cared for him despite everything and would hunt him down if he ticked her off.

"_Do you know what day this is?" Catherine asked as she came into Grissom's office._

"_Friday," he announced never taking his eyes from the stack of paperwork before him._

"_Friday the 14th of __February__to be exact," she said waiting for him to say something. When he didn't she placed her hands on his desk and leaned over. "Valentine's Day."_

_He continued to write for a few seconds more then his hand stopped mid-word._

"_Oh, shit," he cursed quickly glancing at the insect calendar on his desk. A ladybug was the picture of the day with a nice big heart up in the corner and a sweet salutation beneath it._

"_Shit," he repeated._

"_I take it that means you have nothing planned?"_

_His mouth flopped open then closed as he looked back toward Catherine who simply smiled and held out a folded piece of paper._

"_I can keep her here until at least 9:00am. That gives you two hours to take care of things."_

_Grissom took the piece of paper without looking at it then his coat and briefcase she readily handed him. Next came a quick scramble in his pockets for his keys as he stopped at the door to his office and glanced back at Catherine._

"_You owe me," she said._

"_Where are you going?" Sara interrupted as she came down the hall._

"_Ah," Grissom stammered. _

"_I thought we were going to breakfast?"_

"_Yes, ah, I've got . . . got a call in . . ." His brain went blank. He'd never been very good at making up stories on the spot._

"_He's gotta a call in Henderson, Sara," Catherine stepped in. "Shouldn't take that long."_

"_Oh, okay," Sara answered._

"_Sorry," he said. "I'll see you at home." _

_And then he was gone, running headlong to his car once he cleared the front door, starting the engine and heading out of the parking lot only to pull over a few miles down the road. Unfolding the piece of paper he quickly read the two short sentences and smiled. He hadn't thought Catherine capable of keeping it simple. She was just full of surprises._

_ "I owe you," he said with a smile as he pulled away from the curb._

Grissom grinned then at the remembered look on Sara's face when she came home to find him sitting on the bed holding three dozen roses . . . with nothing else on but a smile. It took them four days to clean up all the rose petals that flew through the air that morning, then afternoon and well into the evening. It was the best Valentine's Day he'd ever had.

A brush of air moved past him and he looked up to see Catherine removing her jacket before settling back down again to keep watch over him. He owed her plenty for then and now and so many other things. He wished he could express to her, to Brass, that to have good friends who always came through, who overlooked your shortcomings were blessings.

But he couldn't spare any wishes for his friends. Not now. He only had one wish, only needed one person, someone who knew him inside and out, someone who could speak to him without saying a word.

He needed his soulmate,

He needed Sara.

"_What are you thinking?" Sara asked as she came to bed snuggling up close to him._

"_About you," was all he said._

_She smiled. "What about me?" she asked moving a hand onto his chest._

"_I feel at peace when you're near. It's always been that way."_

"_Always?" she asked. _

_He looked at her then. "Always."_

_She startled at the sincerity of that single word and he saw it in her eyes. Concern filled him._

"_What's wrong?" he asked worried that he'd committed some unknown tribal offense._

"_Ah, nothing," she said with a slight shake of her head._

"_Sara," he pushed, running fingers down her arm._

"_It's just that . . . well, I can be awful."_

"_True."_

_She raised a brow at that. "I can be hurtful."_

"_So can I."_

"_And sullen."_

"_Yep."_

"_I overtalk."_

"_A lot."_

_She smirked. "I get my feelings easily hurt."_

"_As do I," he admitted keeping his eyes firmly attached to hers._

"_I can be destructive, mean, angry."_

"_And your point?" he asked._

_She harrumphed at him. "How can that give you peace?"_

"_Because I know all that about you. It may shock me when it happens but then I realize that's a part of you and, since I love all of you, I accept it. Besides, it's usually something I do that brings all that out in you."_

"_Gil . . ."_

_He cupped her chin with his hand. "All I know is that I may not always be able to say what I feel or get the words out correctly but I do know that when we are apart I get . . . I don't know. Jumpy, I guess."_

"_Why?"_

_He looked away from her then and dropped his hand from her face. "It's because of everything that's passed between us. I'm afraid I'm going to screw it up with some misplaced word or lack of words. Shakespeare can't cover everything."_

_She smiled again and kissed his chest. "The past is the past. It's done."_

"_But it happened."_

"_But it was then. Now is more important. And what is more important is that the man of my dreams loves me. Everything else pales in comparison."_

"_I do, you know, love you," he stated as he looked directly at her._

"_I know. And you must always be certain of my love for you no matter what happens, what fights we may have or words spoken. I will love you always."_

_It was his turn to grin then._

"_What?" she asked at the silly look that soon morphed into something else as he took her hand in his and held it close to his heart._

"'_When you smiled you had my undivided attention. When you laughed I laughed with you. When you cried I held you. And when you said you loved me, you had my heart forever.' Will you marry me, Sara?"_

_Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. He could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand. _

_What if she said no? What would he do then? _

_But then a smile appeared and tears gathered and she launched herself at his lips which he readily accepted. She then moved her head toward his neck while her arms wrapped about him in a tight hug._

"_Is that a yes?" he dared to ask as he returned her hug._

"_Yes, yes, yes, yes," she whispered into his ear making him beam with delight. She pulled back and grabbed the sides of his face. "You know me and want to marry me."_

_He frowned. "Why is that so hard to believe?"_

"_I'm so . . ._

"_Beautiful."_

"_Well . . ."_

"_Smart."_

"_I'll give you that."_

"_Funny."_

_She smiled. "Go on."_

_He grinned back, warmed up to his subject._

"_You make me tremble when you enter a room. Your eyes pull at me whenever you look my way. Your kisses send sweet chills through me. The sound of your voice speaking my name fills my soul with life. I'm addicted to you, Sara. I don't ever want to _not_ experience you in any way I can whether it's here, in the park or at a crime scene. I can't get enough of you and it's always been that way since the first moment I laid eyes on you. You took my breath then and you take it now every single day."_

_She ran fingers through his hair and stared into his eyes._

"_I will always be here, in spirit, in body, in my love for you," she began, kissing one eyelid then the next. "No one, no anything will ever split us apart." A kiss to the tip of his nose followed. "And when we pass from this earth we will meet again in a better place and spend all of eternity together for I wouldn't want to spend all that time away from you even on our worst days." Her thumbs trailed down the sides of his nose as she kissed him, a light kiss that sent shivers through him before she leaned back. "On that I promise."_

_Before he knew it tears were creeping down his face and she was gently brushing them away, then kissing them away, and he was overwhelmed. He never thought it would be possible for him to find what he had now, such a love that was slowly transforming him into the man he'd always wanted to be – open, honest, compassionate. She did this for him._

_He kissed her back and vowed never to let her go._

"Family of Sara Grissom," came the words filtering through the air, pulling him from the feel of her kiss, her touch. Raising his head, he quickly stood at the sight of a doctor standing a few paces from him.

"I'm her husband," he announced, looking hopefully at the man.

"I'm Doctor Nerin Pentra. Please, follow me," was all the man said, pointing toward a small anteroom off the area where they now stood.

Grissom swallowed and found his feet wouldn't move.

"I'm right behind you," Catherine reminded him as he took her offered hand. She gently pushed him after the doctor who stood patiently next to the open door.

Eyes passed over Ben and Daphne then moved back to the doctor, each step sending a shiver of gut clenching anxiety through him as he swallowed the bile that was finding its way into his throat. He stopped at the entrance to the room as if that would keep whatever was coming at bay, his hand clutching tighter to Catherine's.

"Mr. Grissom," Pentra said waiting for him to enter first.

Glancing briefly at the doctor, he turned a haunted look toward Catherine.

"It's okay," she said as his gaze shifted behind her to see Brass coming off the elevator and hurrying toward them.

Letting go of her hand, Grissom stepped into the small room filled with cheerful paintings and overstuffed chairs. He started slightly when the doctor closed the glass door behind him and began talking.

"Mr. Grissom," Pentra said waiting for him to turn before continuing, keeping every emotion off his face as he took in the worry before him. "This is never an easy thing to say to anyone," he began noting those blue eyes narrowing. "I'm sorry to have to inform you that your wife didn't make it out of surgery. Her injuries were too severe and . . ."

And that was all Grissom heard, his earlier wish to be deaf - fully, resoundingly, totally deaf – had been granted leaving him to focus only on those last awful words that replayed in his head over and over.

I'm sorry.

You're wife didn't make it.

Her injuries were too severe.

She didn't make it.

Sara wasn't . . .

She wasn't . . .

His eyes drifted from the doctor's face as he continued to rattle on about who knew what. It didn't matter what he said. Nothing mattered now for his world had suddenly disappeared like it never existed, blotted out in a matter of seconds by those terrible, breath stealing words.

He staggered then and the doctor quickly grabbed his arm and helped him into a waiting chair just as the door flew open admitting a frantic Catherine and Brass. The doctor turned and shook his head toward them.

"I'm sorry but she didn't make it," Pentra explained to the two stricken faces before him. "He'll be able to see her in a few hours." Quickly, the doctor vacated the room, leaving the two to take care of the distraught man.

"Gil?" Catherine whispered kneeling in front of him, laying hands upon his trembling legs.

"She's . . ," Grissom began then stopped, clutching tightly to the arms of the chair. "Sara's not . . ."

Anything else he might've said was lost within a desolate howl of agony that tore from him. Catherine vaulted into his arms and he clutched her to him, burying his face in her shoulder as the wretched sounds continued.

"I've got you. I've got you," she cried, her own tears streaming down her face as Brass folded both of them into his arms, his weeping unchecked.

"What-am-I-going-to-do?" was heard in-between Grissom's painful agonizing cries filling the room with their desperate meaning.

He'd lost all that meant everything to him.

He'd lost a wondrous love.

He'd lost the woman of his dreams.

He'd lost his soul.

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_Okay, I'm ready. I can take it. Go ahead - cry, scream, yell, call me names - at least I'll know you read it. Remember this is only Chapter 3 out of 9._


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks for all your wonderful reviews, especially Toothchick (my feelings exactly), Moochiecat and MyKate. I hope that all of you will continue with me as we move along with Grissom in his arduous journey._

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**Chapter 4 – How can I breathe?**

Grissom let his feet take him. He didn't know where he was going, he was just moving away from Catherine's constant crying and the sad looks the Gilmans were sending his way. Brass, his last bastion of strength, had left to notify the team and as he watched him disappear into the elevator Grissom found himself drowning in the deep, deep sadness that clutched at him. So he fled, sneaking away to haunt the halls, trying not to look too closely at anyone he passed, until he found himself standing in front of the hospital's chapel.

Looking up, puffy, red-rimmed eyes immediately fell on the glowing stained glass before him and he frowned. There should've been colors splashed against the walls – a vibrant, energetic glow that was the only light in the room, a light that always reminded him of Sara's smile, the one reserved just for him that lit up his days and nights. Instead all the colors were fading, washing out as if they were leaking away, disappearing just like the smile he would never see again.

Pressure behind his eyes and a hiccupped breath followed that thought. He would never, never see that smile again or feel her body close to his or her hot breath on his neck. He would never again be able to lose himself in that sultry voice that soothed him when nothing else could or look deeply into those brown eyes that told him so much when words were scarce.

Fighting for some semblance of control, he sealed shut trembling lips against a pitiful groan, a shaking hand moving to his mouth while the other grabbed at the doorframe to keep him from dropping to his knees. He had to contain his cries, hold his agony within so as not to draw attention to himself anymore than he already had. The world didn't need to see Gil Grissom falling apart. It was bad enough Catherine and Brass had witnessed his breakdown. No one else should be privy to such a scene. His hand dropped away from his mouth as he stood a bit straighter and looked back toward the stained glass. Fewer colors met his gaze now.

Stepping through the chapel doorway, an unsteady gait made him hold onto the end of each pew as he passed finally making it to the front and a decision – left or right. His muddled brain couldn't seem to decide. He closed his eyes and sighed. Would this be the way of things from now on? A simple decision – left or right – would become something to ponder for hours on end? A wisp of air ruffled through his hair and his eyes snapped open. A chill followed and he turned.

He was alone.

Alone.

His chin began to quiver at the thought so he took a deep breath and came to a decision. Turning to the left, he sank down on the farthest end of the padded pew, grateful for the large fake plant that would keep him out of the way of prying eyes. No one needed to see the overpowering grief that consumed him.

Hanging his head, not in prayer but despair, he ran fingers through his hair holding tightly to the gray strands as his thoughts moved to his father. He'd died unexpectedly when Grissom was nine. No one would tell him why even though he'd asked everyone in sight. He'd felt the loss keenly. But it hadn't been anything like this – a dark mass of blackness rolling through him only to be usurped by the deepest form of misery that could befall a person. It was obstructing his every breath, causing pain in every joint, every nerve, and making him relive the doctor's words over and over.

_ I'm sorry._

_Your wife didn't make it out of surgery_

_Her injuries were too severe._

_Your wife didn't make it._

_Didn't make it. _

_She didn't make it._

"I need to wake up now," he firmly stated aloud as tears continued down his bearded cheeks. "Just let me wake up now. Please." He was begging now. "Please let me wake up."

But there was no waking up from this particular nightmare for this was his new reality, his new life.

"Oh, Sara," he cried, weeping for his love and himself. Hands moved from his hair to cover his face as he leaned over, unable to sit upright any longer.

"_Baby, wake up. Wake up," came Sara's voice floating through the dark nightmares that plagued him these last few weeks, bringing him instantly awake._

_His breath was fast and his heart raced as he tried to figure out where he was, soon recognizing the feel of her hand on his face, hearing her soft words that always brought him back home. He rubbed at his eyes then sat up and swung legs over the side of the bed not willing to speak for the visions were still fresh, the blood still red and her eyes still fixed and staring._

"_Was it me again?" she asked sitting next to him, gently caressing his back. He nodded. "I'm all right, Gil. I just have some bruises."_

"_You could've been killed," he said, his voice soft and vulnerable._

"_But I wasn't."_

"_But you . . ."_

"_I wasn't, Gil," she interjected reaching for his chin and pulling it toward her until their eyes met. "You saved me. My knight in shining armor came to my rescue."_

"_This isn't funny, Sara," he stated in a clipped tone._

_Rising from the bed she knelt in front of him and grabbed his hands._

"_You saved me, Gil. You beat that bastard to a pulp and have the bloody knuckles to prove it while I just have a great big bruise on my side where I fell into the trashcan. You are my hero in more ways than one."_

_Slowly he intertwined his fingers with hers._

"_I heard you call out and I . . ." he faltered shaking his head. "Everything stopped when I heard your voice. I'd never heard it like that before and it scared me. And the only thing I kept thinking was how am I going to breathe if you're gone? How am I going to wake up after dreaming of you every night and be able to face the day without you? It frightened me and I found myself running on pure panic and all I could see was that man standing over you. __I was so angry. How dare he make me live on memory alone and I . . . I've never felt like that before. All I knew was I had to save you or my life would be over."_

"_And you did, baby. I'm still here to make more memories with you." Quickly, he grabbed her to him and buried his face in her neck. "It's okay," she whispered as he held on fast. "You will never be far from my thoughts and you will always know that I love you no matter what." She ran her hands down his back. "I will always be here."_

"_You can't promise that," he finally said._

"_I can and I will. I would fight Death itself to stay by your side. I'm pretty sure he'd look kind of funny with two black eyes and scythe sticking out of his ass."_

_He couldn't help but laugh, a short chuckle that seemed to relieve the feeling of helplessness that bombarded him in his dream and stayed with him when he awoke._

_Slowly he pulled back. "I'd like to see him with a scythe up his ass."_

_She smiled at him. "Then make sure you bring your camera. We could probably sell it to the National Enquirer and make a mint." She ran her fingers across his cheeks. "Want to try to go back to sleep? I'll make sure to keep all the bad guys away."_

_He nodded and she slid in next to him as he settled, quickly taking her into his arms._

"_Thank you," he whispered kissing her forehead._

"_You're welcome for so many things."_

"How am I going to breathe without you?" Grissom whispered wiping at his face before making himself to sit up and try to gather his wits if only so he wouldn't crumple to the floor in a boneless heap.

"You just do," came a soft voice to his right.

Startled, Grissom's head snapped around and he found himself looking into the deepest blue eyes he'd ever seen attached to an older man sitting at the end of the pew. A confused look crept across his features as he opened his mouth to speak only to have the question of his presence disappear as if it had never been replaced with something else.

"I don't know how," came out instead as Grissom turned from the man wondering how he'd managed to say something so honest to a stranger.

The man gave him a gentle knowing smile. "That's what I thought, too," came the answer as he looked toward the stained glass. "But when I kept waking up each morning, kept breathing in and out, I didn't have much choice. Apparently God has a sense of humor."

Grissom glanced at him again catching the man looking at him with a kind gaze.

"I tried to kill myself after my Emily died," he confessed. "I'm not proud of that but it happened. The gun misfired and all I got was a bruise and a damn big headache. I tried to cut my wrists but it seems I've got tougher veins than most. I even went so far as to step in front of a train and all I got was a broken leg. I could hear God laughing and it pissed me off."

The man turned from Grissom's woeful stare, eyes returning to the stained glass.

"After a month or two of wallowing in my misfortune to still be alive, I had a visitation." The man looked back to Grissom seeing he had his attention. He smiled. "Emily came to me and chastised me, reminding me about a conversation we'd had not long before she died. 'I will always be here,' she told me. 'And even though we are apart I will wait for you and we will be together forever.'" The man's smile became larger. "She was a tough lady."

Grissom thought he must have slipped into shock for that could only be the reason he'd heard the man utter those words, those words he'd heard coming from his Sara not too long ago.

"Ever since that day," the man continued ignoring Grissom's stunned expression, "I felt at peace. She always made me feel that way until the day I walked with her again and what a marvelous day that was."

He stood then, holding Grissom's intense gaze for a few seconds before looking once again at the stained glass.

"Beautiful. The colors are glorious. Reminds me of a cool spring day and the deepest fall colors all rolled into one."

Grissom's fleeting look at the muted, watery, dull colors gave him nothing at all to rave about. He looked away.

"My colors are gone."

The man looked back at him, watching as he turned back to the floor, feeling horrendous, incapacitating pain rolling off him.

"I know," he whispered. "But it _will _get better."

Grissom shook his head. It would never be better.

The man settled in next to him. "I will tell you something that I had to figure out on my own. Grief feels like fear and that fear is all consuming. It's like half of you has been ripped away leaving a hole so large there's nothing you can do to stop your life from gushing out. But she's still in there, in you. A part of her at least. She will always be there because of the memories you hold. They let you keep her close until you meet again. It takes time and more than one box of Kleenex and a few bottles of booze, but it gets better. It gets better."

Grissom said nothing, the man's words floating about his head, not able to find a steady perch to land and sit and wait to be recognized. He didn't know if they'd ever find their proper place. A warm hand made its way onto his shoulder.

"It will come, that day when the colors reach your heart again, and you will be able to look upon your life with something more than bleakness and desolation. Let those around you help because that's all they want to do, what they need to do." He pulled his hand from Grissom's shoulder and stood. "That day will come, my friend. It _will_ come and you will be amazed at the peace you'll feel when, once again, she settles into your heart each time you think of her."

Grissom heard the man's footsteps move away and slowly raised his eyes to settle back on the dull stained glass and couldn't possibly see the day the man spoke of in his near future or ever at all. He was numb, empty, bare for all the world to see. How does one come back from such barren loneliness? How does one see the colors again when the one you want to share them with is no longer?

"_I have never seen such beautiful colors in all my life," Sara said in absolute delight as Grissom stood behind her with a big grin on his face._

_A letter requesting the honor of his presence at Thomas College__1__, buried amongst his paperwork on his desk, had provided the why they were now standing in an open field in Maine. The available time off came as a gift from none other than Conrad Ecklie which caused Sara to hug him. Ecklie. Grissom still couldn't wrap his head around that one but, then, neither could Sara. He'd raised a hand to her forehead the minute they left his office just to make sure she wasn't suffering from some unknown malady._

_They'd been on their way to Machias__2__, a historical town of American Revolution importance, when Grissom spied a field of color so spectacular he didn't hesitate in turning off the road and pulling to a stop. Now he leaned against a tree filled with orange, red and yellow leaves and basked in the glory that was Sara, his camera never very far from his face, making sure to document all that he was witnessing in case his mind failed him at some point. These trees, this foliage that seemed to be painted with an artist's brush, paled in comparison to the pure joy coming from her as she spun around in circles to capture every sight. It delighted him so to know that she was happy. It seemed to ooze from her with every look, every touch, every spoken word. _

_For him he couldn't stop smiling. Teasing soon followed as Nick and Greg caught him humming a happy tune over a decomp then Warrick found both he and Doc Robbins breaking into song in the morgue as they dissected a king sized rat found in the trash in the alley. Even Brass told him that he looked like the sun, bright and shiny and full of love. Corny but true. _

"_What are you grinning about?" Sara asked as she skipped toward him, wrapping arms about his waist._

"_I wasn't grinning," he answered kissing the tip of her cold nose as his own arms wrapped about her._

_ "Were to."_

_ He shook his head. "Nope. I'm pleased with myself."_

_ She giggled. "And there's a difference?"_

_ "Immensely," he added with a nod._

_ "Pray tell what the difference is, m' lord?" she asked gravely._

_ Grissom smirked and raised a brow. "Grinning implies I find something amusing like a witty saying or a pretty brunette telling me to eat my vegetables."_

_ She returned his smirk. "And pleased?"_

_ His happy look changed to serious. "A pleased look means that I'm proud of myself for taking a chance, a chance that paid off very nicely indeed." He tucked a wayward strand of hair back under her knit hat. "I let you in. I allowed myself to take what you were giving and it's the best thing I've ever done with my life. Thank you, Sara, for never telling me it was too late. I'll always love you for that and for so many other things." He leaned in and captured her lips before quickly pulling back._

"_What?" she asked as he squinched up his nose._

"_You're lips are ice cold," he fussed._

"_Yeah, it's like in the 30's out here," she reminded him then held him closer. "But I know a way to warm them up."_

_Her eyebrows waggled followed by a mischievous delightful smile that he couldn't help but return just before she dragged him back to the car to steam up a few windows in their attempt to warm up. The sun was slipping away when they finally made it into Machias.  
_

Happy.

He'd been so happy and content to just watch her work or cook or sleep. His Sara, the one who made him participate in life instead of watching it slip by; the woman who broke him out of his shell and pulled him into the world. And now there would be no more windows to steam; no more arms wrapped tight about the other. His life, his heart, his love was gone and he could make no sense of it. One minute she was there and the next . . . It was as if it never existed.

But it had. He had the memories to prove it and all those photographs and yet that's _all_ he had left. Memories and photographs that he could pull out and remember how good his life had been, how perfect they were together, how much he loved her and she him all tied up in a neat little bow that would grow more perfect as the years progressed. And yet he would give them all away for just a single, solitary hour with her.

Sara.

He rubbed at his face and closed his eyes to try and still the rampant images of what he could no longer have.

"_I will always be here,"_ came at him from out of nowhere. _"In spirit, in body, in my love for you."_

"Sara?" he called turning to face the empty room.

"_No one, no anything will ever split us apart."_

A rush of hope pushed him from his seat.

"_And when we pass from this earth we will meet again in a better place and spend all of eternity together for I wouldn't want to spend all that time away from you, even on our worst days."_

"Sara?" he whispered.

"_On that I promise."_

Then silence, the loudest silence he'd ever heard.

He fell back to his seat and stared at the floor. "Please wait for me Sara."

His voice caught and he covered his face with trembling hands as he once again gave in to the raging sorrow that would be with him forever.

A shadow played about the chapel door and the man appeared, watching Grissom's emotional display, hearing the agony in his cries and took a deep breath. Then his head tilted and he glanced toward the stained glass, a faraway look came into his eyes just before he gave a slight nod and slipped out into the hall.

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_1__ Thomas College, located in Waterville, Maine has classes for Forensics and Psychology (equaling out to Forensic Psychology) – "Psychology of the Criminal Mind" and "Evidence Evaluation and Death Investigation"._

_2__ Machias is the county seat of Washington County, Maine. Its name means "bad little falls" in Passamaquoddy. It has the honor of being the place of the first naval battle in the American Revolution._

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Thank you for staying with me. Your reviews are spurring me onward. Chapter 5 should be up on Monday.  
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	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks again for all of you who've stuck with me on this difficult voyage through poor Grissom's emotions. We're more than halfway done so please stick with it. Special thanks to Toothchick, Moochiecat, MegWolf13, MyKate and RocketScientist2. You guys are the best._

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**Chapter 5 – Nothing is okay**

Catherine peered into the chapel catching sight of the colors splashed against the wall from the stained glass. It was beautiful. It was a place she thought Grissom might run to. She hadn't meant to lose him but a nurse called her over and handed her a ziplock bag filled with, as she put it, 'the deceased's belongings'. The deceased. Not the young woman whose husband was falling apart or the woman who wanted her husband to know that she loved him. No. The deceased.

How cold.

Holding up the bag it occurred to Catherine that this was all that remained of a person when they left this earth – a measly bag of stuff. This wasn't Sara, these things in a bag. This wasn't her at all. Sara had been an independent, vibrant woman who, if she was honest with herself, pissed her off more than once but had turned into a truly good friend. And she'd been able to bring Grissom into the here and now. Sara had done that for her friend. That was worth everything to Catherine.

So when she'd returned to her seat to find nothing but his jacket, panic shot through her. She'd felt the ever widening hole growing within him as she'd held him close. Grissom was heading into a black pit and there was no telling what he would do. She'd never seen him so lost. She had to find him.

Stepping through the chapel's door, Catherine gave the small room a quick survey, surprised at the bit of peace she felt since the thick walls seemed to keep out much of the chaotic sounds that made up a hospital's daily routine. Her gaze scanned the right side then moved to the left, something catching her eye behind a large fake plant to the left. A deep sigh of relief came from her as she slowly made her way down the aisle.

Stopping at the end of the pew, she took in Grissom's appearance – slumped to the side, his eyes were closed, his head resting in one hand while the other wrapped itself about his stomach. The closer she got she could see goose bumps on his arms and fresh tear marks on his face. She debated with telling him that the entire team was here, here to pay their respects to two dear friends but decided not to. She didn't think Grissom would understand their need to be close to him just because he was the only thing left of Sara.

Taking a steadying breath, she swiped at her eyes and slid in next to him, sitting as close as she could to give him some warmth.

"You left your jacket behind," she told him laying it across his lap. He didn't move.

She hesitated a moment then pulled his arm from his stomach and grasped his hand, enfolding her own within it. She felt him squeeze back and gave herself a slight smile. She'd always loved Grissom's hands. They were soft and warm and could work with a steadiness that she envied at times. They could speak volumes as well, something she'd only witnessed a few months previous.

"_Where is he now?" Catherine muttered as she searched every nook and cranny of the lab for their fearless leader. That man could disappear like a magician and he always seemed to do so when Ecklie or the Sheriff was on a tirade. _"_Smart man," she added to her mutterings as she peeked into Trace, David Hodges' head popping up. "Have you seen Grissom?" she asked tartly._

"_Why, no, but I've been . . ."_

_She walked away. If she stayed even a second longer she'd hear all about something that didn't matter a whit to her._

"_Wendy? Have you seen Grissom?"_

_The pretty brunette glanced up and pointed toward Bobby Dawson then continued speaking into her cell phone. Catherine nodded and moved on._

"_Firing one shot!" called out Bobby as a gunshot was heard, Catherine quickly covering her ears, waiting until he pulled off his ear plugs and draped them about his neck._

"_Has Grissom been here?" she asked._

"_About ten minutes ago. Said he was going to see if there were any more rats out back."_

_Grimacing, she nodded her thanks and headed past reception and out the side door scanning the area for her boss. _

"_That man and his fascination with dead animals", she said with a shake of her head as she glanced about picking up on his distinctive laugh, something she'd been hearing a lot of lately. Determinedly heading in that direction, she came to a stop when she spied what didn't look like rat hunting to her._

_On the only nice patch of grass near the chain link fence that separated the lab from the business next door, a floppy-hatted Grissom sat on a blanket with Sara's head in his lap. Her laugh rose up to meet his and, to Catherine, it looked like a moment of domestic bliss right out of a '50's sitcom. She knew she should leave but the Sheriff was adamant about seeing Grissom and seeing him now._

_Opening her mouth to make her presence known, Catherine stopped herself when Sara raised her hands and began to sign. She watched Grissom grin at her then correct whatever it was she'd been trying to say. His hands flew and Sara begged him to slow down so she could copy his movements. Catherine had never seen him talk with his hands. It was beautiful to watch this language of silence made fluid by experience._

"_You added something," Sara's voice came to her. "What does it mean?" _

_Grissom grasped her hands and held them to his chest. "It means I love you with all my heart and everything that I am is because of you."_

_Catherine's eyes began to shine and she backed away leaving them to kiss in private._

"_Why can't I find a man like that?" she asked herself as she quietly let herself back into the lab, the Sheriff forgotten._

Catherine sighed. If only she'd gone for Grissom instead of Eddie Willows. She shook inwardly. Eddie. A pill popping boozer who gave her nothing except their daughter, Lindsey, and in her book that was the best thing he ever did. And when he'd died, she'd cried but not for him. She'd cried because Lindsey had almost died with him and thanked whoever would listen for letting her be there to save her3.

Grissom hadn't had that luxury. There'd been no rescue, no saving grace when it came to Sara. He hadn't been there, hadn't seen her before she'd been whisked away to surgery, hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye. How awful to lose the one you love without a last moment, a last touch, a last I love you spoken for the other to hear.

She wanted so to give him something to hang onto, anything at all, but there was only the ziplock bag sitting in her lap. She shook her head. Should she burden him with this now or wait until he was back home? Glancing at him she knew it wouldn't make any difference where or when. It would crush him either way.

"Gil," she began in a hushed tone. His only movement was the opening of his eyes. "I, ah, I have Sara's things here."

She waited, not knowing if he would scream, cry or run from the room. Instead, he let go of her hand and took hold of the bag to look intently at it.

"Her purse must still be at the accident site," Catherine added then winced. "Brass'll get that . . ." Her voice trailed off. There was no need to bring that up.

His attention so focused elsewhere, Grissom didn't hear her as he set the bag on his jacket and calmly popped it open, reaching in to pull out Sara's wallet, a wallet she'd had since college. He remembered wanting to buy her a new one but she'd asked him not to. This was the wallet she'd had when they met and she'd never give it up. Flipping it open, his heart flopped into his mouth when her driver's license photo smiled up at him.

She hated that picture.

He loved it.

His thumb slowly traced the outlines of her sweet face.

_ "Mine's worse than yours," Grissom claimed as Sara vehemently shook her head._

_ "That's not possible."_

_ "And why is that?" he asked clearly bemused by her response._

_ "You, Gilbert Grissom, are a good looking man. It doesn't matter if you have bed head, you're covered in warts, you're bald or your nose is on your forehead. You will still have a better picture than I'll ever hope to have."_

_ He fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt. "Honey, why do you always insist that you're not good looking? It's not true."_

_ "Yeah, right," she scoffed tucking her horrible driver's license picture away in her wallet._

_ He took hold of her shoulders then. "Do you know how many times a day I have to glare at the men you cross paths with?"_

_ She frowned. "What?"_

_ "At least four. And if we're at a conference or a movie or out shopping, I have to fend off fifteen or more."_

_ "You do not."_

_ "Do, too," he answered running hands down her arms. "I've perfected the look. It speaks loud and clear. This is my woman. Hands off." He struck a pose to show her what he meant and her brows flew up her forehead then a slinky smile moved across her lips._

_ "Really."_

_ "Really," he replied. "Sometimes I wish I had a banner to wave that said mine, mine, mine or a . . . a tattoo or . . ."_

_ "T-shirt?"_

_ "T-shirt, yes. This woman is mine and I am hers. Back off," he said running his fingers across his chest._

_ She grabbed that hand. "I'm yours, huh?"_

_ "Yep. All mine," he said, eyes lingering on hers as she moved closer to him, her wandering hand causing him to shiver. "Now, if you don't believe all of that I'll show you my photo and we'll see whose looks worse."_

_ Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Her loud laugh made him smile as she snatched it from his hand._

_ "I told you it was bad."_

_ "How did you . . ."_

_ "Apparently it wasn't a very good day."_

_ She looked back at him then. "You're right. Compared to this I am beautiful."_

_ "_Finally_ you admit it," he said in an exasperated tone just before grabbing her about the waist and pulling her close. "There is nothing on this earth that is more beautiful than you," he said in a husky voice. "I would compare thee to a summer's day or a green glade filled with flowers but there would be no comparison for thee are far more beautiful than anything in this world. And I have all of thee to myself."_

_ "You are such a sweet talker," she whispered just before kissing his cheek, then his chin. "It's too bad I'm stuck with such a revolting specimen of the male species."_

_ "You poor thing," he muttered as her lips drifted onto his neck and he closed his eyes. "Whatever will you do?"_

_ "Perhaps I'll lock you away in the basement," she suggested, her kisses running along his collarbone._

_ "We don't have a basement," he sighed._

_ "What about the belfry?"_

_ "I told the bats they could live there."_

_ He felt her grin against his skin just before those kisses moved back up his chin and hovered over his lips. He opened his eyes to stare into hers._

_ "I'll just have to deal with it then," she uttered before covering his lips with hers, their gentle movement becoming more passionate as the seconds passed._

Catherine noticed a small smile lingering about Grissom's mouth.

"What are you thinking?" she quietly asked.

Remaining silent, he thought on how he'd gone out to one of those photo booths and taken a string of silly pictures then cut and pasted the best one right over his driver's license photo after hearing her complain about hers. It had all been forgotten until the day he'd paid for Brass' lunch, his friend noticing the cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, hair sticking up with googily-eyed glasses photo. The cashier had given him a suspicious look while Brass stepped in and reminded his friend he'd better make sure he had that fixed because next time he might just haul him in for trying to pass as a goof.

"Gil?" Catherine urged bringing him back.

Glancing her way, his smile slowly faded and his eyes began to glisten. "This is all I'll ever have of her, Catherine," he whispered nodding toward the license. "There won't be any new memories, any new experiences to share. Just tokens, remnants of our time together and nothing more. It'll all grow fainter as the years pass and I'll have to rely on photographs to remind me of her. That's not fair," he quietly finished.

"You'll always have her here, Gil," Catherine said running a hand along the side of his head then moving it to his chest. "And here."

He shook his head. "It's not the same as having her hand in mine; having her sitting next to me." He bowed his head then. "I used to think memories and photographs were enough. Now I know they aren't."

_He'd found her sitting on the floor surrounded by photo albums and loose pictures strewn about. She'd also been crying. Immediately he sat down his briefcase and settled in by her side_

_ "Are you okay?" he quietly asked feeling her head lean against him. He wrapped an arm about her and held her close looking at the photo of a tall, thin man on the open page of the album in her lap. "That's your dad isn't it?"_

_ "Yeah."_

_ "He looks tall. Like you," he said thinking the man might've been handsome if he'd been smiling. _

_ "He was 6'4" with wavy dark hair and brown eyes. Mom always said he whisked her off her feet with those eyes and his sweet talking tongue. It's too bad I never met _that_ man."_

_ Grissom didn't say anything for in a situation like this there was nothing to say. Sara's father had been a wife beating child abuser__4__. Not someone you'd want to remember._

_ "This was taken right after he asked mom to marry him. This moment was when everything was still good. When there was hope for the future."_

_ "That's what photographs represent," he said. "A moment caught in time whether it's bad or good."  
_

_"But what good are those moments if they're false?" she asked._

_ Grissom shrugged. "Sometimes that's all you have. I like to think of them as a snapshot of your life that brings with it memories that you can hold forever because when it's gone that's all you'll have left."_

_ "But it's so sad. Here is a man I never knew."_

_ "And it's a shame he never knew what _you_ could be."_

_ She looked up at him then. "Is that why you take tons of photos? To remember?"_

_ He nodded. "Someday I'll wake up and not know anything but I'll have all these photographs to remind me of who I was and what I had."_

_ "But it won't be the same."_

_ "I know," he quietly answered. "But if that's all I have left I'll gladly take it."_

_ She snuggled in close to him. "I'll be there to remind you."_

_ "I'll hold you to that," he said kissing her forehead._

Grissom looked back down at Sara's photo then slowly closed the wallet and tucked it in his jacket pocket, eyes falling on the earrings, necklace and ticket stub still sitting in the bag. He began to scowl. Catherine noticed.

"What is it?" she asked watching as he pulled out the ticket stub and glared at it.

"We-we haven't seen this movie yet," he said. "We got called in to work." He sat up straight then as his hand traveled to the earrings and necklace, picking them up in a shaky hand. "I don't . . ." Frantically, his eyes fell back to the bag noting it was now empty. "Where's her ring? Where's Sara's wedding ring?"

Catherine looked in the bag then on the floor and seat. "I don't see . . ." She watched as he leapt to his feet, anger marring his face. "Gil, it's okay."

"No!" he exclaimed making her jump. "No, Catherine, it's not okay! Nothing is okay!"

"Gil," she began in a soothing voice, slowly standing, not liking the heavy breaths and anxious movements coming from him. "I'll check with the nurses, see if they found anything else. Just calm down."

"I'll not calm down!" he shouted moving quickly toward the aisle. "They took my Sara from me at least they can give me _all_ that's left of her!"

"Gil!" she shouted after his disappearing form, seeing Brass hastily grab the wall as their friend pushed him into it then moved quickly past him.

"What's wrong?" he asked of Catherine watching her retrieve Grissom's jacket from the floor and hurry toward him.

"Sara's wedding ring wasn't with her belongings. Come on!" she yelled as she rushed out into the hallway.

"Christ Almighty," Brass groaned chasing after her.

* * *

_3 __Eddie Willows, Catherine's ex-husband, was murdered in the Season 3 episode "Lady Heather's Box". Lindsey was trapped in his car that rolled into a flooded gully._

_4__In the episode "Nesting Dolls", Sara tells Grissom what happened to her father._

_

* * *

Well, the thought plickens, ah, plot thickens. Now Grissom's ticked off. I'd stay out of his way. Chapter 6 to post on Wednesday. Thanks for reading and reviewing.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_Continued thanks to all of you and your ecstatic reviews! A special shout out to Toothchick (you're welcome) and My Kate (who needs to uncross her fingers long enough to turn on the computer and read this). Thank you so much._

_Kleenex is available in the lobby. Onward -_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 6 – With this ring**

Grissom felt only an intense fury rage through every part of him as he raced down the hall, pushing carts out of his way and leaving startled yelps in his wake. He had one destination in mind, just one and nothing was going to stop him. This would be the last thing he did for himself, for Sara, before he shattered into tiny pieces.

Rounding the corner, roving eyes found his target standing in front of Ben and Daphne Gilman, smiling and chatting as if everything was right with the world. Without a sound, Grissom ran full bore into Dr. Pentra, slamming the poor man against the wall, his face mere inches from the doctor's frightened eyes.

"What-did-you-do-with-her-ring?" Grissom hissed through clenched teeth, enunciating each word, his voice deep and threatening as he clutched tightly to the man's pristine white lab coat. "Isn't it bad enough that you didn't save her but now you've taken that as well?"

"Mr. Grissom, I assure you . . ." Pentra fumbled as Grissom's hands gripped tighter and he slammed him against the wall again.

"I WANT IT NOW!" he shouted just as Brass came barreling around the corner and launched himself at Grissom, taking hold of him from behind.

"Gil!

"GIVE ME HER RING!"

"Gil, stop this!" Brass bellowed as Warrick came up next to him trying to pry Grissom's fingers from the doctor's coat.

"NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Gil, take it easy! It's all right!" Brass tried to soothe, lowering his voice considerably, continuing in his attempt to wrestle Grissom away from the panicky doctor but his hold was solid, Warrick still working on his death grip.

"He's got Sara's ring! I need it!" Grissom tried again, his voice growing hoarse.

"We'll find it, Gil," Brass managed to spit out just as Warrick succeeded in pulling Grissom's hands away, giving the doctor a brisk nod to move. Pentra immediately complied and moved out of their line of sight waving off a security guard who was quickly approaching.

"He can't have it!" Grissom yelled seeing his quarry getting away, fighting with everything he had to break their hold on him. "I need it! I need it!"

"We'll find it," Brass tried again feeling Grissom's struggles begin to lessen. "Gil, we'll find it."

"I can't . . . I can't leave it behind," he cried. "I can't. It's all-all I have left."

Both men couldn't stop Grissom's drop to the floor as his knees gave way, feeling their own hearts break at the sounds erupting from him as if from a wounded animal, his fists raised in a last bit of defiance. Brass glanced over to Catherine who stood next to a distressed Nick and Greg, all three having a tough time not falling down beside their friend and hanging on for dear life.

Daphne Gilman tried hard not to look at the broken man on the floor surrounded by those who loved him but found she couldn't pull herself away. If not for the luck of the draw, she would've been in the same position - her Marcie would be gone, not Sara. _She_ would be on her knees begging for more time. _She_ would be asking why and getting no answers in return. But her daughter was alive and they would be able to see her soon.

Glancing toward her husband, she grasped his offered hand before looking back toward Grissom, a swarm of pity filling her for what he'd lost. She would make sure to check on him after a few weeks to see how he was holding up. It was the least she could do.

It was in that moment when she began to turn her head, that split second when you know everything is about to change, that something caught her eye. It was a flash, a bright flare that made her blink at its intensity but not turn away. In fact, it kept her eyes focused, waiting to see it again. And then it flared once more.

"Daphne?"

Ben's voice seemed far away as she let go of his hand and slowly approached Grissom now wrapped in Brass' arms, rocking back and forth. She waited and it flared for a third time.

"Why does he have this?" came Daphne's sharp tone not daring to believe what she was seeing. Brass glanced up but couldn't see what she was looking at.

"Have what?" Catherine asked following Daphne's line of vision to the necklace dangling from Grissom's hand.

"This?" Daphne pointed. "Where did he get it?"

"It was in with his wife's effects," she answered then raised her brows as the woman blanched then took a wobbly step back. Catherine's hand shot out to grab her arm.

"Daphne? What's wrong?" Ben asked appearing by her side.

"Th-that necklace. The Ankh5. That's . . ." Daphne's voice trailed off as her husband took a closer look at the gold emblem with a yellow diamond in the center.

"Oh, God," he whispered a hand coming to his mouth.

"Ben?"

Daphne's voice shook as she turned fearful eyes to her husband only to be met with an anguished gaze of his own. A strangled 'no' came from deep within her throat as Ben pushed her gently into a seat. It was then he rounded on the recovering doctor.

"I need to see my daughter. I need to see her now!"

Pentra stepped back then quickly nodded, moving briskly down the hall. Ben squeezed his wife's shoulder before following after him leaving Daphne to stare at the necklace in Grissom's hand.

"What's going on?" Brass whispered to Catherine as she knelt next to him. She just shook her head, not wanting to even consider what was going through her head.

"Let's get him off the floor," she said instead as Nick and Greg came forward to offer a helping hand.

Between all of them they managed to pull Grissom up and maneuver him onto a cushioned bench, Brass feeling a clutching hand latch onto his jacket as they settled next to each other. He covered his friend's hand with one of his own and wrapped an arm about his back. Nodding his thanks to the boys, he watched them take up seats on either side of them, all seemingly lost in their own worlds of pain over the loss that would always hurt. Catherine was the only one standing looking down the hall, fists clenching at her sides, trying desperately to ignore the bleak stare of Daphne Gilman.

Brass couldn't take much more and dropped his head on top of Grissom's, wishing ever so strongly that this day would just disappear. It could all begin again with Grissom grumbly until he had his first cup of coffee; with Catherine putting on the finishing touches to her make-up as she walked to the break room to find Greg, Nick and Warrick playing videogames. And Sara would be smiling at him because she had a story to tell.

Sara.

He'd always felt protective of her. He knew she was strong, but there was something there that appealed to his cuddly teddy bear side. Perhaps it was the time when he'd caught her crying, or how she could make him open up with a simple 'tell me'. He didn't know. All he knew was that he really just wanted to tell her he loved her one more time.

_ "I would like to ask a favor," Sara asked of a very tired, very grumpy Brass as she caught him in the hall outside his office, Grissom rapidly shaking his head at her as if to ward her off._

_ Brass ignored Grissom's gyrations and just looked at her and sighed. Somebody else wanted something from him today. He felt like he should sell tickets, make a little money while everyone took and took and took._

_ "It won't take long," she promised sending him a sweet smile._

_ He sighed again. "Fine." _

_Grumbling, Brass walked back into his office followed by the both of them. Sara's whispered 'what?' came at him from behind followed by Grissom's 'bad day'. They both quieted as he gave them a look he reserved for murderers before dropping heavily into his seat._

"_What is it, kiddo?" Brass asked rubbing at his forehead before perching his chin on his hand._

_ "Ah," she started glancing toward Grissom who simply nodded._

_ "Yes?" Brass said looking directly at her._

_ She smiled back at him. "I was wondering if you would do me the honor of . . ." _

_ Brass waited for the end of that sentence, seeing her fingers grab onto Grissom's as he reached out to her._

_ "Honor of . . ?" Brass pushed._

_ Sara cleared her throat and smiled again. "Would you do me the honor of giving me away at our wedding?" she finally managed pointing to Grissom then herself._

_ Brass watched them both give him nervous smiles, watched their hopeful expressions freeze as they stared at him and he wondered then if the surprise at their request was registering on his face and not just inside. He did know that his quivering chin and sudden reach for a bunch of Kleenex to cover his eyes was clearly visible and hoped they didn't get the wrong idea. The next thing he knew Sara was dragging him into her arms and rocking him in his chair._

_ "Ah, does that mean yes?" Grissom hesitantly asked._

_ Brass' quick laugh flustered them as he sat back, dabbing at his eyes before blowing his nose._

_ "Yes," he nodded. "It means yes."_

_ Sara's squeal made them all smile as Brass gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before pushing back to look in her eyes._

_ "I would be honored, Sara. Thank you for asking."_

_ "I couldn't think of anyone else I'd prefer hanging from my arm."_

_ "Hey," Grissom said pursing his lips._

_ "Besides my man standing over there," she quickly amended._

_ "That's better," Grissom harrumphed._

_ Brass chuckled and kissed the back of Sara's hand. "Thank you for brightening a rather dismal day." He leaned closer in. "I had to spend the whole day with him," he said in a stage whisper nodding toward her man. Grissom's only response was a raised brow and a feigned expression of hurt. "Oh, now I've done it," Brass snorted releasing Sara to go and comfort him before he caused a scene._

_ "That's better," Grissom said as Sara kissed his cheek before they both turned to Brass with giant smiles on their faces. "Thanks, Jim. We really appreciate it."_

_ "No more than I do."_

Brass thought on Sara's beautiful wedding gown, his nerves, her handing him a flask of whiskey and the whispered words 'I'll always think of you as my real father'. He'd nearly ruined everything by crying all over himself just minutes before the Wedding March began to play. It was then he made a pact with himself to always be there for her in hopes that it would somehow make up for his distance with his own daughter, Ellie. And if being there for Sara meant he needed to look after her man, then that's what he'd do. He would be Grissom's light home for as long as he needed him and, if this day was any prediction of what was to come, he'd be needed for a very long time.

"I'm here, Gil," he whispered to his friend. "I'll always be here."

Grissom didn't hear anything. He was in a fog, adrift. His fragile grip had broken. How fast everything changed. How fast the feeling of contentment and ease disappeared when the one who kept you centered was gone.

But if he had her ring . . .

It was strange that something so small could mean so much but when that was all that was left it became a keystone for their life together. It was more than a contract between two people, more than a piece of fancy metal. It was their pledge to one another, an eternal bond that would never be broken as long as one of them had it in their possession. It didn't seem much to ask since he couldn't have what he truly wanted.

_In the greater scheme of things, Grissom prized order above all else. It kept things neat and tidy. Of course, life never went that way so when he'd asked her to marry him, that night when he'd been so caught up that the words just poured out of his mouth before he could stop himself, he'd forgotten the engagement ring locked in his desk drawer at the lab. But it didn't seem to matter. She'd said yes and his world was complete._

_Did his heart grow three sizes that day? Yes!_

_Did the love they made right after seem better than just the hour before? Yes!_

_Was his smile so huge that people were starting to look at him funny? Yes!_

_Had he found her wedding ring yet? No!_

_Was the wedding in just two weeks? Oh, Lord, Yes!_

_ Was that what he'd been looking for?_

_ Startled from his happy musings, Grissom found himself pressed against a window, nose and fingerprints messing up the clean glass. _

_There it was. _

_That was it. _

_He smiled._

_ "What'cha looking at?" came Sara's voice behind him. He spun._

_ "Nothin'." Inwardly, he cringed. That was very smooth._

_ She narrowed her eyes at him then looked up at the wooden sign over the door. "Ow! A Celtic bookshop!" she said excitedly moving quickly past him and through the door._

_ He stood there for a full minute before his senses returned and hurried in after her thanking the heavens she was nowhere in sight._

_ "May I help ya?" came at him from off to his right making him jump._

_ "Ah, well," he stammered looking once again for Sara._

_ "Arthur 'as 'er cornered in the back regalin' 'er with 'is newest genealogical find from Donegal," she whispered. "Might be a member of a regal royal 'e is. Now it'll be even more difficult ta git 'im ta keep 'is mind on work." _

_ She smiled at him and Grissom couldn't help but smile back feeling as if he'd known this small woman for a lifetime._

_"__Would ya be wantin' this then?" she said pointing toward the very object he'd been drooling over. He gave her a puzzled look. "Ya left yer fingerprints on me winda and there could only be one item 'ere that would cause that."_

_ She leaned over and retrieved the ring from the display then walked toward the counter, Grissom following like a puppy. His eyes sparkled when she laid the gold band in his palm allowing him to admire the exquisite scrollwork interlaced with small sparkling green stones._

_ "And those would be emeralds and, yes, a wee gnome worked 'is magic ta create such a lovely piece o' work," she said with a smile as he chuckled. "It's a Celtic Weave symbolizing the continuity of love. There is no start and no finish."_

_ Grissom felt a pang. Their love had no start and no finish. It just always seemed to be there no matter how hard he'd tried to ignore it. And how much better it was when he'd opened his heart and let her in._

_ "This is one of a kind."_

_ "One?" he asked wondering if that was the catch word for expensive._

_ "One," she said with a nod. "The artist creates each one individually and never duplicates 'is work makin' each one truly special. 'e tells me that I mustn't sell 'cept when I see true love."_

_ Grissom eyed her. "And how do you recognize true love?" _

_ She leaned in close to him and he couldn't seem to look away. He felt as if she was peering inside him, into his very soul._

_ "Well, fer one yer woman in there is a bright soul, long fer this earth. 'ad many 'urdles to jump, oceans ta leap ta git ta where she is now – safe with a man who loves 'er like no other. 'er anamchara. 'er soul mate."_

_ Grissom's brow rose at the use of that particular word. How could she know that's how he felt? _

"_And _you_ are that man, her anamchara, who's finally made the commitment 'e's been skirtin' fer years. You are true and faithful and ya love her unconditionally. Am I right so far?" she asked with a pleasant smile._

_ He tried to hide his shocked look by returning his gaze to the ring and saying nothing but was pretty sure he'd failed._

_ "Ya've found 'er and she's found you. Nothin' will part one from the tother 'cept time and, even then, ya'll be rejoined on the tother side. But while yer 'ere, ya'll 'ave such a glorious partnership, and it'll all be tied ta this ring. As long as ya 'ave it, ya'll 'ave everythin' ya ever wanted."_

_ "Everything I ever wanted," he whispered._

_ She placed a soft hand on his. "Think o' it as a magical bond that'll only get stronger as the years pass and remind ya what's important."_

_Grissom nodded knowing he was going to buy this the moment she'd explained the significance of the Celtic Weave. Everything else was a pleasing extra. And he was pretty sure she knew it too. He smiled at her._

_ "Ya've got the silver tongue of a leprechaun."_

_ She pat his cheek. "I only speak the truth."_

_ Taking the ring from him, she went in search of a box, leaving him to wonder how the woman knew them both so well. He perked up when Sara's laugh drifted through the store and gave up wondering because he knew she'd been right. Sara was his soul mate and, with this ring, their bond would last forever._

But forever had come and gone and the ring that meant everything to the both of them was lost. She'd cried when he slipped it on her finger then hugged him and kept on hugging him. He didn't know what to do so held on tightly until the priest made his presence known with a slight clearing of his throat. Blushing, she let Grissom go and looked at him with such love that _he_ started to tear up, her sweet kisses washing away any and all scraps of doubt that might've been hiding away. Another throat clearing got the ceremony moving amid catcalls from the team and then they were one, forever and always.

But that was then when he had everything.

Now everything that meant anything was gone and he had nothing left. That last outburst was the final bit of emotion that dwelled within leaving behind a sad, miserable shell of a man. Nothing mattered anymore. Not even his beloved bugs or solving crimes for how could he piece together a puzzle of an insect riddled body or a simple robbery if he could barely remember to take another breath?

His life was over.

Over.

But then something came at him forcing him to blink – a muffled sound that burrowed through the musty remnants of awareness. It came again, louder, frantic and filled with dread, those sharp tones managing to slice through his pain enough for him to raise his head and see Daphne Gilman running from her chair.

"NO, NO, NO!" came at him in waves as he followed her rushed movements, seeing her come to a sudden stop directly before her husband who was standing still, head bowed, arm braced against the wall.

Grissom blinked again and pushed against Brass until he was sitting upright, never taking his eyes off the two as they fell into each other's arms.

"What?"

That was Catherine's voice. It cut at him, the sound she made, and he shifted his gaze in her direction to see Nick coming toward her. There was a doctor, the same doctor he'd tossed against the wall addressing them both. Catherine grabbed Nick's outstretched hand then slowly turned a surprised look toward Grissom. He watched her approach then kneel before him.

"Gil," Catherine began, her voice breaking. She shook her head and forced herself to continue looking him straight in the eye. "I need to know that you're listening to me, Gil. Tell me that you're listening."

Brass cast a wary look her way wondering what she was doing.

"Gil, tell me you're listening," she repeated never taking her eyes from him. He gave her a slight nod. "It's about Sara," she began trying her best to keep herself together. "Oh, Gil . . . she's alive. Sara's alive."

"What?" came out of a stunned Brass. Catherine kept her gaze firmly fixed on Grissom as Nick took off down the corridor, Warrick and Greg in hot pursuit.

"They made a mistake, Gil," she continued. "That's why they didn't have her ring. It wasn't her. It was Marcie that died. Not Sara."

"Oh, thank God," Brass said not even regretting how that sounded.

Disbelief registered on Grissom's haggard face as he tried to take in all that she'd said. Obviously he was asleep and this was just a dream. Reality was so much harsher than this.

"Gil? Did you hear me?" Catherine said taking hold of his face between her hands. "It's over, all this agony. You've not lost your one and only. She's here and she's breathing."

He looked at her then with narrowed eyes and could see a gentle smile appearing, see that her eyes glistened from more than tears. It looked suspiciously like . . . happiness.

"S-sara's alive?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the hope that suddenly raged in him struggling to be let loose.

Catherine nodded and gave him a full-fledged smile. "Yes, Gil. She's very much alive and waiting for you down the hall."

"I-I don't . . . How?" he stammered still not sure if his ears weren't playing tricks on him. So much had changed in so short a time

"The crash . . . Everything was mixed up," she tried to explain. "Marcie was driving. _She_ was killed not Sara. Oh, Gil, Sara's still here."

Uncertainty worked its way into his insides despite seeing the tears and grins on Warrick and Greg's faces as they returned to stand behind Catherine. He turned hopeful eyes toward Brass.

"Yes, Gil," he gave him with a nod and a trembling smile, not bothering to stop his tears. "Sara's alive."

And with that a light seemed to fill Grissom and his world spun. He reached out a hand to steady himself finding Brass' strong grip instantly in his.

SARA WAS ALIVE! MY GOD! SHE'S ALIVE!

Those words whirled about his head, chasing away the dark, deep mass of gloom that had permeated every part of his being for so long leaving him dizzy with its absence. Slamming shut his eyes against the rotating room, his brain went into overdrive, reawakening him to all the possibilities that were now laid out before him. His world, his life, his woman was still among the living, was still here to hold him, share with him, love him. He didn't have to face the emptiness of a quiet house, a barren existence alone. Everything he wanted, everything he needed was now back in its rightful place. Hanging his head, fresh tears dripped from his lashes. But these were tears of thanks not sorrow; for the living not the dying. He brought a hand to his face to wipe them away but quickly pulled back, opening eyes onto the necklace that hung from his fingers.

Marcie.

"Oh, Sara," he mumbled. She would need _him_ now. He lifted his head to look at Catherine still kneeling in front of him. "I have to see her," he gruffly said.

"Which room?" Brass called toward Warrick.

"413," he responded with a watery smile.

Grissom moved slowly to his feet, swaying a bit, grateful for Brass' strong hand and Catherine's comforting presence as they headed toward his life, his attention drawn to Ben and Daphne Gilman lost in their own agony. He stopped before them and slowly held out his hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispered when they looked up. He met their pain head-on, for it had been a place he'd lived not so long ago.

A deeper silence fell before Daphne took the earrings and necklace from his outstretched hand and clutched them to her chest nodding toward him. Grissom wanted to say so much more but the words wouldn't come so he turned away, standing a bit straighter when he spied Nick at the end of the hall. His heart, long ago thought crushed, once again beat soundly in his chest as with each step closer to his beloved he seemed to regain the strength he'd lost hours before. He was headed toward his soul and that's all he needed to know.

"413," Catherine announced as they stopped outside the closed door.

Suddenly lightheaded and sick to his stomach, Grissom could do nothing but lean against the wall, memories of these past hours bombarding him.

"W-what if it's another mistake?" he asked hugging his arms about his chest. "What if . . ."

"She's in there, Gris," Nick gave him placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "I've seen her with my own eyes."

Tears started again and Grissom let them go not having the ability to stop them.

"Go to her, Gil," Brass told him. "Take her in your arms and never let go."

He nodded at them both and wiped at his face giving them his first genuine smile of the day. He needed to be strong.

For Sara.

For Sara.

With Catherine's quick peck on the cheek and Brass' warm grin to bolster him, he took a deep breath and placed a shaking hand on the door. He took a step then another into a life he'd thought he'd lost earlier this day and found he missed more than he ever thought possible.

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_5__An Ankh is an Egyptian hieroglyphic character that reads 'eternal life'. It is also known as the key of life._

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_HAPPY-HAPPY, JOY-JOY! This is the reason CD wasn't mentioned in the summary. It also took a bit longer to complete. I wanted to get it as right as I could. Thanks for sticking with me. There are 3 chapters left (plus an epilogue). I hope to have #7 up Friday or Saturday at the latest._


	7. Chapter 7

_I've been having trouble getting into the site so I apologize if this chapter is late._

_Thank you, thank you, thank you one and all for the best reviews I've ever gotten. You've spurred me on and I greatly appreciated it. To MyKate (get out the Kleenex), RocketScientist2 (thank you), ILoveJorja (thankful for your FedEx suggestion) and Rahna (for making me translate my thanks into Spanish), CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER (I think I should pay you for those incredibly nice comments), TotalCSIfan (thanks for the idea) and to all of you who've taken the time to read and write. You've all been wonderful._

_Onward. More memories await!_

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**Chapter 7 – Never to part**

The whoosh of air that wafted against the back of Grissom's neck as the door to room 413 closed caused his stomach to flutter. He leaned heavily against that door and raised trembling hands to rub at his tired face as his brain worked to fathom what he was about to see. She was here, Nick said so, and he wouldn't lie about something so very important. Then why was he edgy? All he wanted was in that bed just out of reach and yet he found himself immobile, stuck with his back to the door.

What if they were wrong? What if this _was_ Marcie and Sara was . . .

No. He would know Sara anywhere - in a crowd, across a room, silent, laughing, breathing – which led to a father knowing his daughter just as well. But the uncertainty, the raging vulnerability that this day had wrought clung to him and he ran a hand across his stomach, then shook his head, standing a bit straighter.

"No. She's here. I know she's here."

He could feel her.

All those many hours of believing she was gone, he'd lost the sensation of her, of knowing when she was in a room, when she was near. Now, as he stood a few feet from her, came the tingling feel of her hands on his skin, her warm breath drifting across his neck, and the bond that had nearly broken mending itself into a stronger whole. He held those found feelings close as he stepped from the door and crept toward the end of the bed – the bed that held the still, fragile form of his Sara.

The sight made him clutch at the foot rail, for it was then he remembered he'd never asked what her injuries were or why she'd been taken to surgery. But he could see stark white bandages standing out against her pale skin, wrapped about her head, shoulder and arm, making his breath hitch and his body hurt and his swollen eyes fill once again. Quickly, he slid into the empty chair by the bed before he fell over and merely stared at her sleeping form, cringing at the bruises and lacerations marring her face and neck, eyes moving to fixate on the steady rise and fall of her chest coinciding with the constant beep of the heart monitor, reinforcing what he already knew to be true – she was here and she was alive.

A slight moan escaped her and his attention darted to her face, waiting and hoping to see those beautiful eyes finding him, knowing he was here, but she kept them closed. Her name passed silently from his lips as his hand hovered over hers lying atop the blanket, then carefully picked it up, immediately feeling the reassuring pulse beneath his fingertips. Bringing it slowly to his lips, he kissed the back of it then rested his check upon her soft skin as the weak control he'd had over his rampant emotions gave way.

No longer did he have to think on what he would do when he awoke alone with no comforting body next to him and sweet murmurings of love whispered in his ear. No longer did he have to wonder how he was going to make it through a day with no smile, no touch, no lingering kiss that set his blood on fire. She was here. Her hand, warm and smooth, was in his and he knew he didn't have to worry anymore. All he waited for, the last thing he needed was the sound of his name coming from her lips. That would be when he would find himself in heaven once again where he'd found himself many times before.

_ "You had such a silly grin on your face," Sara informed her new husband. "It was adorable."_

_ "Don't let the guys hear you say that. I'll never hear the end of it," Grissom answered as he snuggled in close to his new wife._

_ "I think they already know."_

_ "What possibly gave me away?" he asked taking hold of her left hand to kiss the beautiful ring sitting there._

_ "Oh, let's see. There was that silly grin on your face. Or it could've been the beautiful vows you wrote or the ring you gave me or the toast you gave at the reception. All of them made me cry."_

_ "Me, too."_

_ "And Warrick and Nick and, I believe, Hodges even shed a tear or two."_

_ "He did. Greg told me," Grissom said with a smile as she laughed. God, he loved the sound of her laugh._

_ "You are just too cute."_

_ "Now you're making me blush," he said shyly._

_ "Say them again," she asked, her sparkling eyes peering into his own._

_ Stopping his examination of her ring, he enclosed her hand in his and fell into those brown eyes. He knew what she wanted and he gladly obliged._

_ "Forever and always in my heart, _

_my soul, my life, _

_never to part._

_For until the sun refuses to set and the moon refuses to rise, _

_we will be as one, always and forever,_

_in heaven's glorious eyes." _

_ She smiled as new tears gathered then leaned into his hand that settled on her cheek. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Gil Grissom. I don't ever want to lose you."_

_ He kissed her then, soft and tender. "You have made me a better man, Sara Grissom." He stopped then and his eyes lit up._

_ "What?" she asked with a grin._

_ "Sara Grissom. My Sara."_

_ She kissed him then. No more talking was necessary._

"Oh, Sara," he whispered, rubbing the back of her hand, noticing her ring wasn't where it was supposed to be. What had been so important just moments before paled in comparison to what he held in his hand now. He reached out and gently touched her cheek with the back of his hand, a cry falling from him when she leaned into his touch.

"I love you so much."

CSICSICSICSI

It was like rising through a cloud – wispy sections flitting past while thicker, puffier sections held fast – and the higher Sara floated the lighter everything became until the silence around her faded away to be replaced with noise. A clickety-clack of something off to her right; a muted announcement above her; a constant beep-beep-beep to her left; and the soft sounds of breathing near her hip. It was all very confusing but her rational mind figured if she just opened her eyes it would all make sense . . . eventually.

But it was a fight to do so. Her previous feeling of weightlessness was replaced with a heaviness that seemed to overtake every part of her and that included her eyelids which felt as if a hefty pair of weights had been attached. But it was a battle she was determined to win and finally managed, parting lashes enough to at least get an impression of where she was . . . and this didn't look like the inside of her car.

Squinting to try and focus blurry eyes, she wondered why there was an IV bag hanging next to her, why her right arm appeared to be strapped across her chest, and why her husband was asleep with his head pressed against her hip, one hand wrapped securely about her own and the other laying across her legs. She tried to move and realized something else – she shouldn't as a wave of pain worked its way through every bit of her causing a hiss to quietly escape before she closed her eyes again.

"Hey, kiddo," came a hushed voice to her right.

Peeking through her lashes, she looked up into Jim Brass' kind face. "Hey," she responded just as quietly. "W-what happened?"

He gently ran a hand across the top of her head. "You were in a car accident. Broke some bones, messed up your insides a bit but you'll live."

Her brow furrowed at those two words – car accident. She'd been in a car accident. Why didn't she remember that?

"I don't . . ."

"It's okay, Sara," he said placing a calming hand on her shoulder as he carefully sat on the side of the bed. "You just rest."

She frowned then tried to blink the fuzziness away. A car accident. Everything was jumbled. She'd been called in. Grissom had called her and asked her to come in. She shifted her gaze to her man and squeezed his hand.

"He looks . . . awful," was all she said, bits of worry descending on her.

Brass nodded, glancing at his friend. "He wouldn't leave your side; wouldn't eat; wouldn't let you go so I got Doc Robbins to slip something into his coffee. He's wrung out." He wasn't planning on saying more but couldn't help it. "It's been a bad day," he admitted as he played with her blanket, the fiddling taking a moment to draw her attention away from her husband.

"How bad?" she asked, looking closely at the man she thought of as a father and thinking he looked as bad as Grissom. "Jim?"

He looked up then. "Ah, well, there was a mix up," he began, Sara hearing a tremor in his voice. "For a time we – we thought the worst." His eyes were glistening and he ran a hand over his mouth before looking away.

Sara could feel his emotions so near the surface and didn't have to struggle very hard to figure out how bad a day it was for them, for these two men, but she wanted to hear him say it anyway. She hadn't been there for them. But she was now.

"Tell me," came softly then.

Brass gave a slight shake of the head but couldn't ignore the pleading look she sent his way. He'd lived through it, didn't want to again but, it seemed, she needed to hear it from someone and it might as well be him.

"The doctors told him . . ." He hesitated remembering so well the horrible scene. "They told him you were dead."

She sucked in a breath, eyes immediately traveling back to her man. She didn't have to be told what had happened, how he'd reacted for she knew the depth of his emotions, could see them written on his face even as he slept. She knew better than anyone else.

"I've never seen him so . . . broken," Brass continued, wiping at his eyes. "And there was nothing I could do but hold him and hope that I could get him through this."

At one time Sara had caustically accused Grissom of not having any emotions but she knew better. He was a man who cared with every bit of his soul for every victim, for every friend. If humanly possible he would do whatever it took to help and then invent new ways if the old ones weren't working. He was loyal to a fault and he loved deeply. She'd been witness to that more than once and it pleased her so that she was always the recipient of that love no matter what. And to know that he'd thought her dead without a moment to say goodbye ripped at her.

Tears came then, drifting off her lashes, feeling his agony as if it were her own and she just wanted to take him into her arms and show him how alive she was. She wanted him to hear her heartbeat, feel her hands upon him, let him know that she lived still.

"Why did they think I was dead?" she asked turning her attention back to Brass.

His mouth opened then closed and he shook his head. "You were . . ." He stopped, a pained expression on his face. "There was someone else in the car with you. Your ID's got mixed up."

Sara's brow furrowed. She'd been in her car. She was called in. She'd been laughing then . . . screaming at . . .

Her eyes widened and she gasped.

Marcie. She'd been in the car with Marcie.

"Oh, God," she whispered as the scene came tumbling back to her.

They'd been out all day and stopped for a late lunch when Grissom called. Multiple bodies at a warehouse. All hands. The reasonable solution was to have Marcie drive her to the scene. Sara could always catch a ride home with Grissom or Nick.

"I-I left my wallet with her to pay while I went to the bathroom," she remembered in a quivering voice. "I forgot about it when I got to the car. Oh, God, Jim," she cried.

"I know, honey," he said, shushing her as he wiped the tears from her face.

"It's not fair. Marcie never hurt anyone. And she had my wallet so Gil . . ."

"It's not your fault, Sara," Brass tried.

"He thought I was . . ." She pulled her hand from Grissom's and rested it on his bearded face, her thumb softly caressing his cheek. "My poor baby," she whispered.

"He loves you so, Sara," Brass stated watching the tender scene.

"And I love him more," she said, feeling guilty that she had lived while Marcie had died.

Brass knew the look and grabbed her trembling chin, pulling it toward him. "You are _not_ responsible for what happened, Sara. Do not blame yourself. Marcie wouldn't want that."

"But . . ."

"No buts," he firmly said. "The man who hit you had a heart attack and lost control of his car. Marcie didn't do anything wrong and neither did you. It was a case of the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I'm sure Marcie's parents don't want to hear that."

He leaned in close. "Listen to me, Sara," he began. "You _should_ be dead. His car hit your side. They had to pry you out with the Jaws of Life. I saw the car, Sara. I don't know why you're here and I'm not going to question it. Don't lose yourself in guilt that isn't yours to carry. Do you hear me?" She looked up at him. "All I know for sure is that _he_ needs you," he said nodding toward Grissom, "more than you know.

"I need him, too," she admitted.

"Good, good." He smiled then and rubbed at his eyes.

"Thank you," she softly said shifting her hand to his, "for taking care of him."

Brass nodded then leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I'm going to let everyone know to leave you alone until morning, give you two a chance to rest up."

She smiled at him then turned away, never knowing when he left, her full attention riveted to her husband. She so wanted him to wake so that she could see his smile, see those blue eyes sparkle with the knowledge that she lived. And she wanted to be able to tell him, over and over again, how much she loved him. Grissom was home to her – a home she never wanted to leave.

_ "You didn't?" Sara exclaimed, shock on her face._

_ "I did," Grissom answered with a smug look on his own._

_ "Let me see."_

_ He opened the door and led the way to the mailboxes proudly pointing to his own while she walked up to look at the placard on the box: SIDLE / GRISSOM. She placed a hand over mouth._

_ "Gil, people will see," she said trying to give him an out even though she was secretly pleased._

_ "Don't care," he announced. "This is your home as well as mine. Your name should be here."_

_ She ran her fingers over his block style writing and couldn't help a tear from slipping off her lashes. Quickly wiping it away she soon found his hands on her arm, a look of concern on her face._

_ "Do you want me to change it?" he asked. She looked up at him seeing the doubt on his face._

_ She shook her head. "No."_

_ "Then what's wrong?" he asked wiping at her cheeks._

_ "It's just . . ." She shook her head again. "We've always kept _us_ quiet. Didn't want people intruding on our little world."_

_ She watched him, watched his face, knowing he was sorting through a myriad of things to say as his brow furrowed then his face cleared, a decision made. _

_ "I don't want to hide anymore, Sara," he started, his voice low, his hands gently rubbing her arms. "I love you and I want the world to know."_

_ "What about Ecklie, our jobs?" she asked barely able to take her eyes from him._

_ "To hell with both," he said curtly as her mouth dropped open. "I'm not ashamed of you or what we have and I want to shout to the heavens that I am happy for the first time in a very long time."_

_ "And my name on the mailbox does that for you?" she asked with a cheeky grin making him purse his lips._

_ "No," he answered, reaching up to hold either side of her face, his thumbs softly caressing her cheeks. "Your love does that for me. The mailbox is for the rest of the world."_

_ She kissed him then, a long drawn out kiss that she hoped conveyed her appreciation, her approval, her love to this man. Her name on the mailbox didn't make this her home. This man made it her home and, wherever he went he would always be home to her._

He had her heart in the palm of his hand and it would be forever so. This man, her man who loved her unconditionally, was in every thought, every dream and to think he'd suffered so much pain pierced her soul. He was her everything. She found she couldn't sleep without him next to her, couldn't enjoy the little things unless she shared them with him. He was her soul mate for there could be no other name for how he made her feel. She fit him like a glove – in bed, at a crime scene, finishing each other's sentences. It was as if they'd been made for each other and to see the anguish on Brass' face as he told her of their day, her heart wept for both men who'd thought they'd lost everything.

She trailed a hand through Grissom's soft curls, relishing the feel of his head pressed against her hip, his arm over her leg as if holding onto her for fear she would disappear again. His love meant the world to her and she never wanted him to let go.

"I love you, Gil, more than you'll ever know."

CSICSICSICSICSI

The room was dim and stuffy as if it hadn't been opened to the air in a long while. Grissom could see the oak casket in the front, lid opened, surrounded by flowers, and chose to look away. He'd not known Marcie very well. Oh, he'd met her on a number of occasions, but she was Sara's friend. He was here to offer her support. Hoping to ease the tightness about his neck, he pulled at his tie. It didn't work. He hated wearing these things but knew the occasion warranted it and Sara would tell him to stop anyway so left it alone and took the time to look about in order to distract himself.

The small chapel was beautifully decorated with white lilies scattered about interspersed with sprigs of lavender. He could smell the scent from where he stood and it brought a hint of a smile to him as thoughts of Sara danced about his head. She loved that scent and when he smelled it she was all he could think about.

Someone bumped him, bringing him back to the here and now, and he excused himself, surprise drawing brows up at the sight of Conrad Ecklie who gave him a nod and continued on.

What was Ecklie doing here?

Those words never passed his lips as the Lab Director moved into the chapel and took a seat. In fact, everyone seemed to be taking their seats. Checking his watch, Grissom gave a cursory look behind him finding he was the only one there and decided to move inside. Sara had probably slipped by him.

Stepping inside, he made his way down the aisle, noticing an oppressive silence following as he passed each row. It dragged at him, slowing him down until it felt as if he was walking through molasses, his eyes falling on Greg turning toward him, a sad and miserable look on his face. Grissom's puzzled gaze took him in then fell on the rest of the team sitting in the same row, each face holding the same look. An uneasy feeling worked its way through him to add to the tightness that had settled about his throat.

Pulling away from them, he spotted Ben and Daphne Gilman sitting at the front, Daphne moving her head slightly to bring Sara's beautiful face into view, her eyes finding his. Grissom smiled at her and received nothing back but an empty stare. It made him flinch and look away then back only to find Marcie looking at him instead. He blinked. How much they looked alike still amazed him.

And then he saw the bandages encasing Marcie's head and arm.

He blinked again. If Marcie was sitting there then . . .

That fist he'd become so acquainted with in the hospital grabbed at his heart again. Frantically, he looked into the sea of faces behind him, searching for the one he needed to see, until it finally captured him and then took his breath. A photograph sat atop the casket. A photograph he'd taken not so long ago.

"No," wrenched from him as he took a step back only to have Brass by his side in an instant.

"She loved you, Gil," he said.

Catherine came next. "They did everything they could."

"Marcie would've gladly taken her place," Ben Gilman said next.

"Here are her things," Daphne said dropping Sara's wedding ring into his palm.

He stared at it, at the intricate scrollwork and tiny emeralds, and felt his heart splinter into a thousand pieces as the voices continued. Reaching up to cover his ears against the onslaught of sympathy, he backed up until he hit something solid. Against his will he turned and came face to face with . . .

"SARA!" Grissom yelled his head shooting up so fast that he lost his precarious balance on the chair and fell flat to the floor.

"GIL!" followed after him as he collapsed, Sara holding onto his hand as long as she could before he was gone. She tried and failed to sit up, falling back onto her pillow as pain carved itself into every part of her body, lungs working hard to collect a breath, keeping her from calling after him again.

Eyes tightly shut, Grissom remained on the floor, what he'd seen replaying again and again against his eyelids, no sound but his beating heart filling his ears. Had it been real? Had he seen his beloved laid out in a . . .

Shivering, he grabbed hold of his frayed emotions and forced himself to open his eyes and see where he was. He was surprised for only a second to find himself on the cold floor staring up at the underside of a hospital bed; the smell of antiseptic lingering in the air, and it all came rushing back. A flash of adrenaline surged through him and he leapt to his feet, regretting it the moment he was upright as his world leaned and he clutched at the side of the bed, eyes firmly shut, hoping he wouldn't pass out and end up back on the floor in a heap.

"Gil?"

A sharp intake of breath came from him at the sound and he held onto the bed so tightly his knuckles turned white. That was Sara's voice, his Sara, a voice he'd prayed to hear since all this madness began. It was a voice he knew would rescue him from the pit he'd fallen into as his name on her lips in that smoky voice sent chills through him. But even though he'd just heard the most joyous sound in his world, he couldn't open his eyes.

What if now was the dream?

What if she was truly gone?

Did he really want to wake up?

And then he felt her warm hand touch his own. Eyes involuntarily popped open and a groan caught in his throat at the sight of those brown eyes filled with worry, love and, above all, life looking straight at him. It was as if the sun was rising after an eternity in the dark, cutting through the shadows that sucked the life from him, making him question his very existence. She was here. Sara was right here, no longer lost in memory but here before him. All he had to do was reach out and take hold.

"Gil, I'm here."

Her voice was stronger, insistent even, urging him to say something but all he could do was surrender to the urge to be close to her and let her pull him onto the bed until he settled by her side. She pressed his head to her chest as his arms carefully wound about her and she wept at the sounds of agony coming from him. Kissing the top of his head, she rubbed his back then held him close needing to push back those awful hours when he'd thought he was alone; to let him hear her heartbeat to prove to him she was alive.

"I've got you, baby," she whispered to him, "and I won't let go."

She felt him bury his face in her chest. "Don't ever leave me. I can't live if you leave me," came to her between sobs.

Her tears fell faster at those heartbreaking words. "I won't, baby," she promised. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

Grissom gave a slight nod, believing everything she said, not worrying that at some point one would leave the other through no wish of their own. But now he had her heartbeat in his ear and was so very glad he'd been given the opportunity to hear it once again. It relieved him of his anxieties, his doubts that he'd soon wake up to hear the sounds of earth falling onto the hard wood of a casket as it was lowered into the ground. _That_ had been a dream. A dream he never wanted to revisit.

All those hours of wishing and hoping that they'd gotten it wrong had been his living nightmare and all he'd asked for was to wake up. And holding the warm body in his arms, feeling her fingers running through his hair proved to him that he had woken up at last. _This_ was his new reality, a reality he cherished above all else.

Sara, his soul mate was in his arms alive and breathing and he would never, ever let her go.

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_I hope you like this chapter_. _While I wasn't looking Chapter 8 leaped into Chapter 7 and dug in. So, that leaves me Chapter 8-less. This may take me a few days of pondering if I should just make Chapter 9 Chapter 8 and move on. So forgive me if you don't hear from me for a few more days than usual. I don't want to screw up anything when I'm in the home stretch. Thanks for continuing to read my story and a HUGE thank you for all the wonderful reviews. My ego is stretched to the limit! _


	8. Chapter 8

_Okay, here is the new Chapter 8. I hope it continues in the tradition of Chapters 1 – 7 and doesn't disappoint. I worked as fast as I could and managed to create such a large Chapter 8 that I had to split it in two. So now we're looking at 10 chapters and an epilogue. I wanted to thank whoever (I can't find the review) wanted to know about G's hover response. I conveniently left that out of my first go round and this added section makes it all fit together much better. So, let me know if I've fallen into drudgery with this chapter. (I feel I write G better than S.)_

_Onward ~_

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**Chapter 8 – You're staring again**

**3 days later**

It was raining.

It hadn't been raining five minutes ago when Sara had sent Grissom away. Now large, fat drops pelted against the hospital window keeping her attention fixed on the water streaking down the glass washing away dirt and grime and bird poop.

Oh, if life was as easy as that.

Three days ago Grissom had found her again and it was a day that was burned in her memory as the best feeling in the world. Their hands touching, their tears mingling, their hearts beating as one as they lay together in her hospital bed would forever mark this time as a recovery of what was nearly lost.

And within those last three days Sara had devoted every waking moment to assuaging his fears even though he'd done his best to hide them from her. But she'd known him far too long not to notice the tell-tale signs – the long silences, his hands never far from her own, his jumping at her every movement, his keeping her in sight whenever possible. He remained as a sentinel making sure she had everything from a bendy straw to an arm to hang onto as they hobbled down the hallway together. He'd even been there when she'd nearly fainted in the shower which didn't do much for his nerves but made her feel cherished when his strong arms held her tightly as the water pounded upon them both. She'd laid her head against his chest then content to be exactly where she was.

And his quiet attentions and thoughtful handing of the nurses was greatly appreciated when they came to change her IV bags and check her bandages but when the doctor appeared, Grissom became focused and unrelenting in his questions. She'd had to pinch him more than once to get him to stop asking if the doctor was old enough to be on his own.

His constant presence allowed her to focus solely on him thwarting any attempt by her memory to bring up fractured scenes of what brought her here. But when her eyes closed and sleep overtook her she had nothing to guard against those blurry remembrances that forced the breath from her as metal bent and twisted with her trapped in the middle, crying out for Grissom to save her and take her home. Fighting against a pressure that held her and soft murmurings that filled her, she'd lashed out, successfully belting the demon that had caused her so much pain. It was only when she came fully awake that she found her husband belonged to that pressure and his whispered words of comfort were what brought her back to a peace and calm as she'd quietly cried, not knowing until the morning she'd successfully given him a shiner. He'd shrugged it off as the perils of sleeping in such a small bed and held her even closer, kissing her gently with the promise of fighting off her demons with 'a piece of licorice and his wits'. She'd laughed and he'd grinned and they'd settled in for their day of multiple walks about the hall and a speed round of 'I Spy'7

But it was his presentation of Rupert Bearington, an overly large floppy teddy bear dressed in an argyle sweater that brought out a full scale smile on his face as she squashed the stuffie to her chest and squealed with delight. It was the first such smile she'd seen since before all this started and it carried with it a bloom of light that broke through some of the gloom that had taken up residence within her.

As with the rain on the glass, if only it was that easy. If only his smile could push away the guilt that ran through her, the anger that welled up unexpectedly. If only his touch, his kiss could make it all go away.

Maybe someday, someday soon.

A creaking sound behind her dragged Sara away from the hours and days before and her hand moved quickly to her face to wipe away the tears. She didn't want to be crying when she yelled at Grissom about not going home. It would ruin the effect. But turning toward the door she found it wasn't her husband peeking through the slit but Dr. Philip Benton, a young doctor who'd taken over her care from Dr. Pentra. She smiled at the sight.

"It's safe to come in," she called with a slight chuckle. "He's not here. I sent him home for awhile." The doctor slipped inside giving her a bashful grin. "I know he can be a handful."

"It's not that," Benton admitted as he came toward her bed. "We appreciate it when people want to know what's going on. It's just, well, he asks more questions than my two year old. I even brought my birth certificate so he knows I'm of age," he finished holding up the paper with a grin, "along with my diploma to prove that I graduated."

Sara laughed louder this time and held her stomach. "Ow."

"Sorry."

"No, no it's good to laugh even when it hurts," she said as he took a seat near her bed. "It's good that I can." She sobered a bit at the thought.

Benton caught the sad look that crossed her face then turned toward the chart in his hand. "Well, everything is looking on track for an early dismissal."

Her eyes lit up. "When?"

He smiled at her. "Tired of us already?"

She smirked. "I just want to go home. Let my husband know that I'm all right. He worries."

Benton grinned. "I noticed. But, that's good. He'll keep you on the straight and narrow; make sure you don't overdo it. You were in a bad car accident, Sara, that's nothing to shake a stick at. You had your spleen removed."

"I know. It's just . . . I want this to be over," she admitted with a sigh, her smile slowly fading. "It's been an awful time for the both of us."

"As I've said before I'm recommending counseling for the both of you, either through the hospital or on your own. You lost a friend and, because of us, he thought you were dead. It plays with the mind either awake or asleep. Sometimes it just helps to talk about it." She nodded and he patted her arm. "Well, that's enough preaching from me. We should know by tomorrow if you can go home."

"Thanks, Dr. Benton, for everything."

"You bet. Oh, here," he said handing her his birth certificate and diploma.

With another smile he was gone, leaving Sara to verify that the good doctor was, indeed, of age and had graduated. Satisfied, she folded up the papers and laid them on the crowded table next to the bed shaking her head at how, in a few days, they'd managed to overload the moving table with straws and Kleenex and chapstick and a half eaten candy bar among other things - a collection of haphazard items that defined a specific timeframe best forgotten.

Tossing back the covers, Sara eased herself to her feet and moved slowly toward the window. Taking a seat by the small square table there, she looked down at the garden one floor below replete with blooming flowers, the wide array of colors now muted by the gray clouds overhead and sighed.

It had been ten minutes now since Grissom had reluctantly left and she missed him, missed his hovering even though she'd never admit it directly to him but she knew he had to get out of here. He'd been cooped up with her for three days never venturing any further than the cafeteria and back. A quick call to Greg to take care of Hank and his bugs and Catherine for a change of clothes, and he was perfectly happy just sitting by her side. And she understood why he wouldn't leave. She'd seen it written so plainly on his face, in his eyes. He was afraid that one moment looking in another direction might be the last time he'd see her. But he had to step away, had to breathe fresh air and try to put behind him all the bad memories this place held. And to do that, she had to let him know she was getting better even though every thought was filled with sorrow for her friend and worry for her man.

And that had been the first step – sending him away, but only for a short time. She didn't want to be without him for very long, without the strength he gave her, but she had to pull herself together sometime.

It might as well be now.

_ "You're staring," Sara said not looking away from the view out the hospital window._

_ "Hmm?"_

_ A touch of a smile pulled at her mouth as she turned toward Grissom and those blue, blue eyes centering on her own._

_ "You're staring . . . again."_

_ She raised a brow and pursed her lips at him which changed into a smirk. His preoccupied look began to fade, his brows lifted and then his mouth dropped open._

_ "Oh, oh, I was supposed to stop doing that," he said rubbing at his cheeks as he looked at anything but her. _

_ "Baby," she said with a slight giggle and reached out for him. His hand was there instantly taking hold of it in both of his own._

_ "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just . . . I'm afraid if I look away you'll . . ." Words failed him and he shook his head._

_ She wrapped her fingers about his hand and tugged. He looked up and she could see it all – the fears, the anxiety, the doubt lingering still even though she was sitting right in front of him._

_ "I can't possibly imagine what you went through," Sara began. "All I know is that it hurt you terribly. But I'm here. You're holding my hand. I'm speaking to you. I will not disappear. I'll be out of here in a few days and then we can go home to Hank and sit on the couch and eat ice cream until we puke," she said with a smile that he slowly returned. "That's all I long for – to have you next to me forever. _You_ are my life."_

_ "As you are mine," he sincerely informed her, a pleased look overtaking her at his sentiment._

_ "But I need you to do one thing for me."_

_ "Anything," he eagerly said, moving to the edge of his seat._

_ A grin turned into a smile at the willing look on his face and she squeezed his hand. "I need you to get out of here for a bit."_

_ His mouth dropped open again and his expression fell and she suddenly felt like a heel._

_ "Oh," was all he said as he released her hand. Hers held fast._

_ "Gil, I just want you to get a change of scenery for about an hour or two."_

_ "I'm sorry," he said again. "I-I'm hovering. I know. I can't help it. It makes me feel better when I can see you . . . breathing," he warily admitted._

_ "I know and I love you all the more for it but you need to go outside, look at the sun, visit your bugs, go through the mail. Take a shower," she ended emphatically._

_ He looked at her then lifted his arm to take in a slight odor. "Oh," he finally said. Then his eyes brightened. "I can take one here."_

_ "Honey . . ."_

_ "I'll have Catherine bring me some more clothes."_

_ "Gil . . ."_

_ He smiled, pulled his hand from hers and fumbled for his phone. "Yeah, that's what I'll do."_

_ "Gil!" His eyes flicked instantly to her. "You _need_ to go home and blow the stink off you, change your clothes, get something to eat _then_ come back."_

_ "But . . ."_

_ "I won't evaporate, baby. I'm here for the long run." She gave him a reassuring smile and he slowly lowered his phone._

_ "Well, if you think I should."_

_ "I think you should," she said with a nod._

_ "I won't like it," he added with a pout._

_ "I didn't expect you to." She smiled at his puppy dog look._

_ "Are you sure?"_

_ "Very."_

_ He grabbed her hand and gave her an apologetic look. "I'm not doing a very good job am I?"_

_ "What are you talking about?" she asked. He shrugged, failing to look her in the eyes. "Gil?"_

_ He looked up then, his demeanor serious. "I want you to feel like you can tell me anything, Sara. You . . . you lost a friend and I'm here to listen. Don't think that I'm not here for _you_. All you have to do is smile at me and my day is blessed. I want to do that for you, too. I want to help you like you help me."_

_ "Just you being here is what's helping me."_

_ He tilted his head at her and pursed his lips. "So you're kicking me out?" he asked._

_ She shook her head and gave him a chuckle. "You're impossible."_

_ He gave her a shy grin. "That's why you love me."_

_ "Oh, there are so many reasons why I love you," she said leaning in for a kiss which he gladly delivered. _

_ "I'm so glad you're mine," he softly said running both hands down her cheeks._

_ "Me, too. And sweet talking ain't gonna change nothing. Now git."_

_ He huffed. "What if I don't want to go?" he asked a miffed look on his face. "Who's going to help you down the hall? The nurses are too busy."_

_ Sara looked at him and raised a brow while he stared back at her, arms clasped across his chest. He looked adorable but there was no way she was going to say that to him now._

_ "How about we make a deal?" she asked._

_ His eyes narrowed. "What kind of deal?"_

_ "If you leave for an hour or two, I promise to work every decomp for the next month or whenever I go back to work."_

_ "That's what Greg's for," he stated with a satisfied look on his face._

_ "Okay. How about I promise to make you French dip, barbeque pork ribs and a leg of lamb all in the same week." She saw him swallow._

_ "All that meat? In the same week?"_

_ "Yep. I'll even throw in a sausage and pepperoni pizza for the weekend while you watch baseball."_

_ Sara could see him wavering sending up thanks to whoever told her that a way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Grissom was no different._

_ He sighed then leaned toward her. "_You_ are a harsh woman, Sara Grissom," he answered. "Or I'm just a meat weakling."_

_ "I think it's the latter," she smirked as he leaned over to give her a soft kiss._

_ "I still don't like it."_

_ "I know."_

_ "Okay."_

_ Pulling his jacket off the chair, he hung onto her hand for as long as he dared then headed for the door. Sara smiled when he stopped and turned, his fingers moving through a message before slipping out into the hall._

_ "I love you, too, baby."_

And now that he was gone, she thought that, perhaps, she'd been a bit too hasty in kicking him out the door. A quick walk about the hospital grounds would've been good enough and then he'd be here smiling at her, touching her . . . staring at her.

"You're such a mess," she whispered turning to look back out the rain streaked window thinking on how lucky she was to be able to see anything at all.

Talking to Grissom was what she wanted most but knew he would tell her there was no answer as to why she was still alive and Marcie wasn't. It just was. And that wouldn't erase the memory of the car coming toward them or the look on Marcie's face of unadulterated regret for what was about to come. Nor would it wipe out the sounds of screaming and breaking and then a deep, deep silence that was louder than any explosion. She'd lived through all that. Marcie hadn't.

And all she'd wanted, right before the world faded from view, was one more kiss from the man she loved.

She couldn't tell him those things while he was still perched on the edge himself, still worried that she'd never come home. He'd been through so much more than her and she needed to give something back. She always wanted to be there for him no matter what.

"_Have you seen Griss?" Nick asked of Sara as he entered the layout room._

_Looking up from the myriad of photographs laid out before her, she shook her head. "Not since we came in. Isn't he working the Jameson kidnapping case?"_

"_It's done. He figured out who'd taken little Maddie and Brass picked them both up a couple of hours ago. That creep, Gayson, is headed to lock-up as we speak. The Jameson's wanted to give Grissom their thanks."_

"_No, I haven't seen him," she admitted._

"_Well, I'm not really surprised he isn't here."_

"_Why?_

"_You haven't heard?" Nick asked._

"_I just got back from a scene. Heard what?" she asked, a touch of anxiety rearing its head._

"_It was rough, Sara," Nick said with a shake of his head. "Brass had to restrain Grissom against the wall while they hauled Gayson out. Last thing I heard was Brass telling Griss to go to his office, shut the door and cool down. But there's no one there. I'll let the Jameson's know he's gone." Nick turned to leave then stopped. "When you see him tell him he did good."_

_With a partial smile, he walked away leaving Sara to worry over why Grissom hadn't told her he was leaving. She quickly checked her cell – no text, no message. Next she dialed his number but it wasn't answered; their answering machine clicked on but no one picked up and when she peered out the front door, his car was missing from the lot._

_Hurrying to the locker room, she grabbed her things, asked Judy to tell Catherine she was leaving, and started toward the door only to slow at the sight of Nick talking to two happy parents and a little girl – smiles all around. She couldn't help her own small grin at the good her man had done as she walked through the doors. Taking one of the lab issued SUV's, she raced out of the lot toward home thinking of how doggedly determined he'd been these last few days to solve this case. _

_He'd gotten his man. What had changed?_

_Finding his car parked in the usual place, she pulled in next to it and rushed toward the door finding it unlocked. Easing it open, the porch light cast enough of its brightness into the dark room to illuminate Grissom on the couch, hunched over with his head in his hands. Hank was nestled next to his master's legs, looking up when she cleared the door and giving out a soft whine as she approached. Quietly, Sara sat as close to Grissom as she could, keeping her hands to herself. Waiting for him to say something only silence filled the room and she realized she'd have to break it._

"_I heard what happened," she softly began. "Are you okay?" she asked seeing him slowly shake his head no. "Is there anything I can do?" He shook his head again then reached out and took her hand. She enclosed his warm hand in hers and held on, leaning her head on his shoulder._

_A good ten minutes of stillness passed before he spoke up._

"_I don't understand how someone can do that to a child," he finally spoke, his voice layered with emotion. "How they can think it's okay to destroy something that's barely begun. It's just . . ." His voice trailed off._

"_Evil," she supplied to which he only nodded. "You saved that little girl, Gil. Without you she would've died."_

"_But I couldn't save the boy," he reminded her sadly._

"_No. But nothing you did or didn't do changed his fate. It was sealed way before you got involved." He didn't respond so she leaned in closer. "You are not responsible for his death anymore than you are responsible for the weather. Think only of the joy you gave to her parents by finding their little girl alive. _You_ did that. You did that because you care, because you couldn't do anything but help them find her." _

_She heard him sigh then felt him shift until his head was leaning against her chest. Sitting back, she took him with her and ran fingers lightly through his hair._

"_You're a good man, Gil. Don't ever forget that."_

_He snuggled in closer. "Thank you for finding me."_

_She grinned then and kissed the top of his head. "Wherever you go I will always find you."_

He'd held her tightly all through that night and told her, as they awoke to a new day, how much he loved her. That was the first time he'd said those words but hardly the last. She loved him so much and would love him more tomorrow and more the next day after that. There was nothing she could or would do to stop that.

"Oh, my God. Where is he?" came Catherine's voice from the door pulling Sara from her thoughts. "Couldn't stand the staring anymore and kicked him out?"

"Hey, Cath," she answered with a ghost of a grin as the strawberry blonde entered, dropped her purse on the bed and took the seat opposite her.

"You feeling okay?"

Sighing, Sara shook her head. "Not really."

"Should I get a nurse? Do you want me to call Gil back?"

Shaking her head again, Sara turned back to the window. Catherine watched her closely noting the paleness of her skin and the slight tremor in her hands.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Catherine watched her shrug. "Sara, I know you're not a big talker but it does help sometimes."

"I just want it to go away."

"It won't. Trust me," she stated as Sara turned to her, a sad expression on her face. Catherine took her hand. "When Eddie died I thought it wouldn't bother me but it did. I cried myself to sleep for three days before Lindsey decided enough was enough."

"What did she do?"

Catherine smiled. "She called Gil and he came right over. Mister 'I don't want to get involved in anyone's personal life' sat down and let me spew forth all the anger, fear, relief and guilt that I'd been holding onto for years. It was a cathartic experience."

"Why would you have guilt? Eddie was a bastard."

"I know. Weird, huh?" she answered with a shake of her head. "The only thing I could figure was that I felt guilty because my happily ever after hadn't come true. I truly loved him in the beginning and I jumped at the chance to be married, to have a family, to be a wife and then it all fell apart. And Lindsey was right in the middle of it."

"But he was a drunk and a philanderer," Sara said trying to wrap her head around why Catherine would feel guilty over that scumbag.

"And I was his wife who was supposed to support him. Instead I walked out. I did it for Lindsey and I did it for myself. Gil took us in and gave us a place to stay until we were back on our feet." She fiddled with a well worn crossword book lying on the table.

"Thank you, Catherine," Sara quietly said. "Thank you for being here when I couldn't."

"I'm glad I was here. I owe him for so many things and I just wanted to be there. He really loves you, Sara, I think more than he knows. And he wants to help in any way he can. Talk to him. He's a good listener."

Sara's eyes began to glisten. "How can I tell him that I keep thinking I shouldn't be here? That _I_ should be laid out in the morgue, not Marcie? Why am I so special that I lived and she didn't?"

Catherine grabbed her hand. "There's no reason, Sara, none that we know of anyway. And don't dwell on it because you'll just drive yourself crazy. Marcie wouldn't want you to feel guilty about something that just happened."

"That's what Brass said."

"And he's right."

"Maybe. It's just . . . Every time I close my eyes I can see her face, hear the sounds of a life changing. It's suffocating. Then I wake up and _my_ life is lying right next to me. I get to go home, go back to work, make love to my husband, watch a new day begin. Her life is over," she finished looking down. "It just seems so . . ."

"Futile?"

"Unfinished," Sara corrected. "Her life will be forever incomplete. How can I ever face her parents again?"

"Sara, you said yourself you should've been killed but you weren't. There is no evidence to explain why and there never will be. You must come to terms with that as do Marcie's parents. Don't get me wrong. It'll be tough but with Gil by your side you'll make it through just fine."

"You think so?" Sara asked drawing a slight smile from Catherine at the wishful look on her friend's face.

"I know so."

Sara nodded then turned back to the window as Catherine tried to come up with something else to take her friend's mind off things when she spied a wheelchair tucked into the corner of the room.

"I've got an idea." Jumping out of her seat, Catherine grabbed the chair and headed toward Sara. "We're going for a roll."

Sara couldn't help the chuckle that rose from her when she realized Catherine wasn't going to take no for an answer, and settled into the chair, an extra blanket tossed over her legs.

"I'm leaving a note so Mr. Worry-wart won't go bonkers," Catherine informed Sara as she scribbled something on the back of the crossword book.

"Thank you for that," Sara said with a smile. "I don't want him screaming my name and running from room to room aggravating the nurses."

"Actually I pictured him pulling a Brando8," Catherine said as she pushed Sara toward the door. "You know. Standing in the hall in a T-shirt, head tossed back yelling S-a-r-a! S-a-r-a!"

Sara snorted and held onto her ribs as Catherine continued yelling her name as they made their way down the hall, falling into laughter at the looks they got from the nurses before they disappeared from sight.

* * *

_7 '__I spy with my little eye'__ is a __guessing game__ usually played in families with young children, partly to assist in both observation and in alphabet familiarity. I spy is often played as a __car game__._

_8__This refers to the Marlon Brando classic "On the Waterfront". There is a famous scene where Brando stands outside Stella's window and yells for her at the top of his lungs._

* * *

_Well, there it is. The next new Chapter 9 will focus on G's response to all of this which will dovetail nicely into Chapter 10. The next chapter may take a few days longer while I fine tune it. Thanks for keeping the faith._


	9. Chapter 9

_The Marlon Brando film mentioned in the Chapter 8 footnote was "Streetcar Named Desire" not "On the Waterfront". Thank you to Moochiecat for pointing that out. The sad part is I looked up the quote under "Streetcar" and then promptly typed "Waterfront". Go figure._

_Well, this chapter needed to be split as well. Since Sara had her own chapter in 8 I thought Grissom should have his own in 9. So I've added ANOTHER chapter to my saga and there may be more since I've decided what I originally wrote needs a lot more Sara. I'll see what I can do._

_Thank you again for all your lovely reviews, especially MyKate, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER and CSI Lover 4 Ever. You guys are the best._

_Onward ~_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 9 – He would've been done**

The weather was an interesting thing to watch. When he'd been tossed from Sara's room . . . well, more like a soft skedaddle shove out the door, the sun had been shining like it did most days. Now, as he stepped through the hospital doors and was reaching for the car door it was as if the heavens opened up. Quickly leaping inside, he sat there for a bit as the rain landed heavily on the roof of the car listening to its rhythm.

Grissom admired Sara for many things but hitting him with the meat gambit when she was still recovering from her accident impressed him even more. He knew it was just a ploy to give her some space since he'd been hovering again but decided to give in. Being there every waking moment could have a tendency to lessen the lovable feelings toward one another so he'd granted her wish and left and it had taken every bit of resolve to not only walk out of that room but to not come racing back a few seconds later. It was difficult, to say the least, that walk down the hall and toward the stair, then down the twenty steps (yes, he'd counted) to the lobby and the main door. Somehow it felt as if he was abandoning her and wondered if that feeling would ever go away. She was in good hands he told himself over and over.

But they weren't his hands.

Popping open the car door, a leg was already halfway out when he cursed, glared at nothing in particular and cursed again before reclosing the door to stare out the window. Water flowed down his window taking with it the dirt and grime and bird poop.

Oh, if life was as easy as that.

Three days ago he'd lost the feel of her. _That_ had surprised him. He'd always known he would never find himself wanting for a vision of her face, her smile, her touch for it was forever tattooed on his being. But in those hours, those horrible hours of finding himself suddenly alone, she had disappeared as if she'd never been. Maybe it was the shock of being forcefully ripped one from the other without even a moment to let them know they waited and would wait until the end of time. Or maybe it was a cruel cosmic joke to let him twist in the wind while his mind played with him. He'd never know. And that's why he hovered, why he never let her out of his sight for any length of time because when she'd awakened, when she'd said his name the feel of her came rushing back, slamming into him like a sledgehammer and he'd held on fast. He never wanted to lose that again.

Not ever.

But as with most things he'd overdone it and now he was sitting in his car with his hand not far from the door handle fighting with himself to go back or go home.

Groaning, he dropped his hand from the handle and inserted the key into the ignition, looking back at the looming edifice of Desert Palm behind him and thanked whoever would listen that he had a reason to come back to this place. Glancing at his watch, he frowned. He still had an hour and fifty minutes to kill.

Deciding to just do what Sara asked, he hastily drove out of the parking lot having to remind himself that breaking every speed record might just get him killed – if not in an accident then by Sara when he barreled his way back into her room a scant twelve minutes later. Her request for him to go home was for his own good and he knew it. She'd been thinking of him ever since they'd awakened squished together on her bed. But all he wanted to do was something for _her_ and if going home was what she wanted then so be it even though he found it difficult to breathe let alone think when she was out of his sight.

Grissom's mind moved about these last days as he drove - the pain, the dreams, the unspoken struggle of being a survivor. Sara was experiencing all of it and there was nothing he could do but stand by and wait for her to open up and tell him what was burning her up inside. But words wouldn't come and she'd opted to be held instead, something he'd done gratefully, happy to feel the reassuring heartbeat beneath his palms. It hurt his heart to hear her cries but he would be there for as long as she'd have him giving herself to him as he gave to her. That's all he really wanted.

He chuckled then. He'd been caught staring, again, and now he'd been sent home. He guessed he'd reached her limit. Well, a good hour should be long enough – long enough to take a shower, change his clothes, get a bite, and bring her a new set of clothes in case she was discharged the next day.

He could handle an hour.

Or not.

The flashing lights of an ambulance coming toward him made him tense and took him back to Brass running towards him with that awful look on his face. Grissom shivered then cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders.

"I can always sit in the hospital lobby," he murmured to himself, stepping on the gas and turning off the main street, making it home ten minutes sooner than normal.

Running between the raindrops and into their house, he shucked off his clothes on the way and leapt into the shower. Soap on and off in record time, he was dressed and towel drying his hair when he caught sight of his black eye – still puffy and now showing the unpleasant color of a putrefied zombie – trying to decide if it wanted to stay or go. Comments in all shapes and sizes ensued from the peanut gallery of co-workers that appeared during the last three days but his favorite came from Warrick and Nick as they harassed him with 'did you let Sara do your makeup with her left hand?' He'd let it pass with a raised brow and a tilt of the head before responding 'I did it myself . . . as always' which garnered a loud laugh from Sara as the rest joined in.

It was so good to hear her laugh again.

Grissom smiled at the memory as he moved through the house heading for the refrigerator and a possible snack. Ready to yank open the door, his eyes fell on a bright yellow note affixed to the door, the words 'Don't forget our date' scrawled across it with little hearts drawn about the words. It was then his stomach dropped to the floor and he had to hold onto the counter as his head swam.

Their date.

He'd forgotten she'd planned a picnic - just the two of them sitting by Lake Mead taking in the silence and beauty and each other. A special place, a special time for them both. And they'd been so close to not ever fulfilling that date or any others, not ever to sit in the park or go dancing or take a long walk to look at the stars. So close to never again waking with the hope that they would discover something new about the other, some bit of something that would surprise them both. Never again share a blissful, pleasurable time in the throes of lovemaking that would wash away any and all unhappiness they'd seen that work day and finding that their love was eternal.

It would've all been gone. Everything gone.

And he would've been done.

Looking back at the refrigerator and the collection of photographs and schedules and menus he saw life and he knew for a fact that he never would've been able to come back here. Casting a glance about the kitchen and into the living room, Sara was everywhere. Every nook and cranny, every space spoke her name as if her spirit had taken up residence.

He could hear her giggles as he chased her down the hall.

He could see her on the couch crying over an old movie.

He could feel her beneath him, soft and yielding.

He could smell the lavender in her shampoo as he nuzzled her neck.

He could remember the both of them huddled on the bathroom floor.

_Grissom could do nothing but drop the box in his hands among all the other boxes littering the living room, fleetingly wondering if there was anything breakable inside before racing down the hall. He just made the haven of the porcelain throne before he spilled his guts, hands clamped tightly on either side of the bowl. He started when a cool washcloth draped across his neck and thought it felt lovely_

"_It's okay. I'm here," Sara's voice soothed as he heaved again barely noticing her rubbing his back._

_ After a few moments of silence, he sat back and she carefully wiped his face and mouth before plastering a hand over his forehead._

_ "I don't feel very good," he finally managed as he leaned against her._

_ "You know how I could tell?" she asked. He gave a slight shake of the head. "You usually don't have your face in the toilet."_

_ All he had was a bit of a grin that quickly faded as he yanked himself back toward the bowl to heave up whatever else there was.  
_

_ "My poor baby," she cooed wiping his face once again. "Are you done?" she asked after a bit. He gave her a half-hearted nod. "Can you move?"_

_ "I think so," he said with a groan as she helped him to his feet then out of the bathroom and toward the bed, plopping him down on the side. Kneeling before him, she pulled off his shoes then reached up to unzip his jacket. _

_ "I think someone overdid it today," she accused, tossing his jacket onto a chair. "I told you to ask the boys to help. They all offered."_

_ "I can move your boxes myself," he whined. "I just got a little overheated is all. I'll be okay in a few minutes."_

_ "Gil, you're sick. Why don't you just admit it?"_

_ "'cause I'm supposed to take care of you and I can't do that if I'm in bed," he moaned._

_ "Baby, I'm on the tail end of my cold. Unfortunately, you're right at the beginning. It's my turn to look after you now. Come on. Get out of your clothes."_

_ He gave her a snarky grin. "Are you trying to take advantage of me, Mrs. Grissom?"_

_ She pursed her lips and her eyes danced. "In your present condition, Mr. Grissom, you wouldn't make it past first base."_

_ Harrumphing, he complied with her wishes. "Killjoy," he grumbled pulling at his shirt buttons.  
_

_ She helped him scoot under the covers and added a fleece blanket when he began to shiver, waving the washcloth through the air to cool it off before draping it over his forehead._

_ "That's nice," he sighed then opened his eyes. "I'm sorry."_

_ "For what?" she asked as she pulled the Kleenex box from out of the side table drawer. _

_ "I wanted your first night here to be special not . . . this."_

_ "Oh, sweetie, it is special," she said gifting him with a smile._

_ "How?" he asked with a pout._

_ She ran the back of her hand along his face. "You're always taking care of me. Making sure I eat and sleep, listening to me when I'm pissed, giving me gifts, telling me you love me."_

_ "You deserve all those things," he said fumbling around the covers to grab her hand._

_ "And so do you," she said squeezing back. "Now _I_ get to return the favor and take care of you. It pleases me to do so."_

_ "If I puke on you you may not think it's such a great idea," he said with a slight grimace._

_ "That's why I'm moving the waste basket next to your bed and now I'm going to get some cold medicine and some ginger ale with the hope it'll drive away that green tinge you have about you."_

_ "I think you'd better hurry," he said as his hand shot to his mouth._

_ Sara's quick movement wasn't quick enough and he heaved up all over her shirt before falling back onto the pillows, taking the discarded washcloth and wiping off his face. Opening one eye, he cringed at the sight of her holding up her dripping hands and casting a disgusted look toward her shirt._

_ "Special, huh?"_

_ She looked up and gave him a wry grin. "Very."_

He'd apologized profusely until she'd threatened to give him an enema and a dose of castor oil just for kicks. That shut him up good as he managed to hit the waste basket three more times before his roiling stomach eased somewhat, the feel of her fingers trailing softly through his hair sending him into a peaceful exhausted sleep.

God, he loved that woman. He could never be without her and everything here reminded him of her. Sara _was_ this house, managing to turn it into a refuge for the both of them, something he'd never considered when he'd been by himself. It never occurred to him to warm up the place with rugs and pillows and yet it fit him and calmed him and made it easier to tell her what he was thinking and feeling. He found great joy in that and he didn't want to return to the closed off individual he'd become, scared of everything that had to do with his heart, because that just shortened a life.

She had done this to him.

She _was_ his life.

Rubbing a hand over his face he found that his lashes were wet and wiped them dry. There was no need for tears. His Sara was alive and would be home soon to fill the place with more memories for the two of them to cherish.

"I need to get back," he said aloud moving away from the refrigerator and glancing at the clock on the wall. He'd only been gone forty minutes yet it felt like a lifetime. He knew he'd never make it away from her for another hour and twenty minutes.

Deciding he'd rather she be mad at him than to just stay here and count the number of books they had he headed for the sideboard, picked up the small duffle filled with her clothes and grabbed his keys, noting his own clothes strewn about the floor. With a sigh, he dropped everything and promptly picked up his mess and hurried toward the bedroom. He wouldn't make brownie points if she came home to an untidy house.

Dumping the clothes in the hamper, Grissom smiled. She was coming home. His woman was coming home.

Job done he turned to leave only to have a burst of something catch his attention. Turning, he spied a splash of color streaming across the far wall. Blinking at the suddenness of it, he searched the room to find a stray beam of sunlight stretching beyond the edges of the blinds to land directly on a prism sitting innocently on the dresser.

He sucked in a breath.

Colors.

He could see them. Blue, green and red arcing across the wall all there for him to reclaim. They burned into his eyes. He could see them plain as day.

"_It will come, that day when the colors reach your heart again, and you will be able to look upon your life with something more than bleakness and desolation." _

The stranger8, he'd known. Somehow he'd known.

Grissom couldn't stop the tears this time and let them come as the light striking the prism began to fade as the storm moved back in and rain, once again, struck the windows.

_ The sharp flash of light pulled his attention from the prism hanging from the ceiling of the souvenir shop and he turned seeing Sara sending him a bright smile. _

_ "Why are you smiling?" he asked as she neared._

_ "The look on your face," she answered leaning over to kiss him on the cheek._

_ He frowned. "Is this something you're going to show at the lab? Was my mouth hanging open or something?"_

_ "No and no," she said with a laugh. "I'm keeping this one for myself."_

_ Puzzled, he figured he'd just take a look later when she was in the shower._

_ "And now I'm taking out the chip so you can't erase it," she said as if reading his mind, popping open the little door on the side of the camera. He covered her hand with his._

_ "I won't."_

_ "Promise?"_

_ "Promise," he answered as they moved off to look at other things in the shop._

_ "So what did it remind you of?" Sara asked picking up a small metal Space Needle and dropping it into her basket followed by a Mariner's hat. "The prism," she added when he failed to answer._

"_This would be perfect for Jim," he said with a smile holding up a T-shirt with the slogan 'the beatings will continue until morale improves' emblazoned across the front. _

_She giggled. "You know he'll wear that to work."_

"_And his guys would fall into line. Maybe I should wear something like this," Grissom wondered. "You think it would scare Greg into acting like an adult?"_

"_No. But Hodges . . . it just might work on him."_

_He picked up another one and dropped them both into the basket. _"_It's worth a try," he said eyes moving toward the back wall of the shop and the curiosities that resided there._

"_So what did that prism remind you of?" she tried again as he eyed the mummies, Sylvester and Sylvia9, along the back wall__._

_ "My father," he said his voice so low he was surprised she'd heard him._

_ "Your father?"_

_He nodded. "The last thing my father gave me was a prism. He told me of Isaac Newton's belief that the prism itself didn't create colors but separated the ones that were already there while everyone else simply thought light was white." He turned to Sara. "Being a botanist, my father prized light. It allowed him to do his work and he wanted to pass onto me the value it brings. The pretty colors were just a bonus." He gave her a small grin and turned back to Sylvester._

_ "Do you still have it?" she asked._

_ He shook his head. "I'm not sure what happened to it. After Dad died Mom and I moved a couple of times but I always had it with me. By the time I was ready to go to college I couldn't find it. It was the last piece of my father besides his books and it always bothered me that it was gone. Seeing that one just brought back the sadness I guess will never leave me."_

_ "I'm sorry," she said as she rubbed his arm._

_ "Don't be," he said back. "I still have the memories and that's all you really have after awhile. Besides I always have you to make me feel better." _

_ "It's what I do."_

_ "And you do it well," he said giving her a kiss just before grabbing a salmon hat off a rack._

_ "Greg," they both laughed, dropping it into their basket and making their way to the register._

Two weeks after they'd returned from Seattle, Sara handed Grissom a package. Recognizing his mother's handwriting, he quickly opened it to find, wrapped in a load of bubble wrap, the prism he'd thought lost long ago. 'Stuck in the attic'; 'thought it was lost ages ago'; 'when Sara called I began my search' filled the attached note.

He'd cried then just as he was crying now. The weight of the prism in his hand had reconnected him with his father and now its colored light gave him back that last bit of ease he'd been missing. And Sara had been instrumental in both of these things. She'd cared enough to find his missing fragment of memory then lived to make sure those pieces stayed together.

He was a very lucky man.

Wiping at his face again, he fought off the urge to fall back on the bed and cry himself to sleep remembering that his heart was waiting for him at the hospital, a place he'd much rather be at that very moment. Hurrying out of the bedroom he picked up the duffle and his keys and sailed through the door toward his car not caring, at that very moment, if Sara would be mad at him or not.

He would treasure every angry word.

* * *

_8 The stranger refers to the character in the chapel in Chapter 4_

_9 __Sylvester and Sylvia are residents of Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe in Seattle, Washington_

_

* * *

_The new Chapter 10 should be ready early next week or, if I get off my butt and work from dusk to dawn or dawn to dusk whichever comes first, Sunday! I'm hoping anyway. Thanks for reading and reviewing.


	10. Chapter 10

_My apologies for the lateness of this chapter but it took on a life of its own. Apparently G and S had more to say than I originally planned. So far there's only one more chapter and an epilogue left (unless, of course, something kerflooey happens and the characters run away with the story AGAIN!) So a great big thank you for all of you who've stuck it out. And, yes, kerflooey is a technical term._

_Onward -  
_

* * *

**Chapter 10 – For I must love because I live**

When what a person is expecting changes dramatically the body has a tendency to alter itself drastically in the space of a few heartbeats. Stomachs drop to the floor, eyes shoot wide open, breath comes in quick gasps, and a cold sweat breaks out in many annoying places. So it was with Grissom as he bounded into Sara's room only to find it empty and the first thought that whipped through his mind was that his worst fear had come true – these last days had been a dream and he'd suddenly awakened to reality.

Sliding to a stop, he grabbed the foot rail of the bed and tried to focus, tried to stop the silly ideas spinning inside his head, and centered instead on the fact that his crossword book was lying face down in the middle of the bed and it appeared to have overly large writing on it. Placing the Baskin-Robbins10 bag he'd been carrying on the bed, he latched onto the book with one hand while fishing out his glasses with the other, a giant sigh of relief heaving through him at the sight of the token message scrawled there: 'Stole your woman. We'll be back. C.'

A comforted smile found him as he shoved his glasses back into their pocket and picked up the Baskin-Robbins bag to place in the mini-fridge. Dropping the crossword onto the table, he fell heavily into one of the chairs by the window, thoughts moving to the trailing remains of panic that were slowly ebbing away the longer he sat there.

He wondered how long it would be before he wouldn't recognize the feeling anymore, would have those thoughts racing through his head. Would every time Sara wasn't where she was supposed to be toss him into a tizzy? Would he fumble and fume if she didn't answer her cell? Would he ever be able to tone down his desire to wrap her in a cocoon and carry her around with him everywhere he went? He'd never been like that before - an overprotective, nervous husband who would drive them both crazy.

But now . . .

Groaning at the position he now found himself in Catherine's voice sounded in his head – 'it's because you love her more than anything'. And she was right. He did. He loved her more than life itself. Then Brass intruded reminding him that 'recent events pushed you to your limits and it'll all work out once you get outta this place'. And that was what he was hoping for that the nervous feeling that had taken up residence in his gut would ease once they stepped into their house and shut the door.

He could only hope.

Rubbing at his face he peered through his fingers to see the happy smiling face of one Rupert Bearington propped up in the chair opposite, a sudden blast of sunlight falling across his green glass eyes giving them a lively glow. Grissom frowned. He hadn't seen him there when he came in and, for a fleeting moment, wondered if the bear had just sat down. The thought made him grin. Rupert had become their bed partner, a comforting presence for them both, and Grissom idly considered if the bear would claim that same position once they got home.

Home.

Ah, how he longed for it and for the sense of normalcy it would bring. Perhaps then Sara would open up, would tell him everything she was feeling. Could it be far removed from the petrifying agony he'd experienced? The feelings of guilt he'd had that he hadn't been there; that he shouldn't've called her in; that he wasn't able to function very well without her and that he'd embarrassed himself in front of his team. All of those things kept harping at him. He knew there was nothing he could've done - things happen – but he would surely like to be able to stop the images rampaging through his head and disrupting what little sleep he could claim. Perhaps then he'd be able to deal, as Warrick would say.

Squinting up at the patch of blue fighting for control of the sky, he saw more gray clouds waiting in the wings and thought they looked ominous. He'd always enjoyed watching storms. But now he just wanted everything to be quiet so he could focus on Sara and get her back on an even keel. If she would sleep through the night so would he; if her frown would disappear or the lost look that would overtake her would vanish a little bit of him would relax and the both of them would begin to heal. He knew it would take time and he would give her all of his.

Moving his gaze downward, Grissom's eyes fell on the beautiful flowers in the small garden below then drifted to movement off to the right seeing Catherine wheel Sara out into the sun. His smile grew wider at the sight and he propped elbows on the sill to rest his head on his hands and stared at them. Catherine was in the midst of some sort of story that involved a lot of hand waving but the part that touched his heart was Sara's reaction. First she smiled then laughed, a hand quickly holding her side, and he could hear her in his head – that deep throated chuckle that could erupt into a loud snorting laugh. It reminded him of so many things - joy, happiness, light, color, warmth, love, embarrassment (usually his), frustration, wonder and so on. It made whatever was bothering him seem inconsequential in comparison. It was one of the things he most loved about her.

_ "You think that's funny?" Grissom asked more than a bit perturbed at her unnatural reaction to, what he perceived, as a personal calamity._

_ Giggling too hard to respond verbally she merely nodded. His lips pursed even more._

_ "So _this_ is what I get from _my_ wife - hilarity when, instead, I was looking for, for comfort, understanding, righteous indignation!"_

_ "I'm sorry," she finally managed flopping against the SUV unable to stop her giggles. "It's just . . ." Looking up at him she was off again, her giggles turning into belly holding laughs._

_ Harrumphing, Grissom put hands on his hips and glowered at her. "I can't believe this. I am nearly crushed in a trash compactor and all I get is . . . this! So much for true love," he sighed. "I could've been killed!"_

_ "I know and I'm truly sorry," Sara said taking a step toward him, catching his look of pure betrayal. She forced herself to sober up and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Gil. It's just that, well, you look . . . you look like . . ."_

_ "Like what, Sara?" he asked. "Like a man who was nearly terminated by a mechanical device?"_

_ "Well, yeah, but . . . no," she stuttered then shook her head. "You look like you should sit down."_

_ Grissom's eyes narrowed. "That's not what you were going to say."_

_ She held his gaze for a bit then looked down. "No, no, I wasn't going to say that."_

_ "Then what, Sara? I look like what?"_

_ Struggling to keep the smile from her lips, she looked back up. "You, ah, look like a . . . a deranged clown who's been mauled by a bunch of elephants."_

_ He frowned. He'd not been expecting that. _

_Brows rose quickly when her struggle to keep a straight face failed miserably and she let loose with a loud cackle and a finger pointing to his left. Narrowing his eyes, Grissom slowly turned to see the reason he'd fallen headfirst into a compactor walking toward them trying to look dignified despite the fact that a banana peel had taken up residence in his hair and didn't look like it was leaving anytime soon._

_Greg Sanders._

This_ was the reason his woman was laughing at him and it suddenly pleased him to no end that he'd had the wherewithal to grab Greg's arm and haul him in as well. That'll teach him to sneak up on a person. _

_Flinching at the laser eyed glared directed his way, Greg immediately found that the ground was far more interesting than what was sticking out of Grissom's beard._

_ "Hey," Greg began trying to appear nonchalant despite his stiff posture. "You, ah, find what you were looking for?"_

_ Grissom slowly held up the torn scarf clutched in a greasy hand and remained mute, his stern visage slowly collapsing at the mess that was Greg standing next to him. Along with the banana peel was half the shredded newspaper in Vegas stuck to every part of him like glue. In between the headlines was something that looked like mayo along with ketchup, fries, and a wad of gum hanging from an ear._

_ Figuring that Greg was merely a mirror image of what he looked like, Grissom couldn't help the grin that began to form or the bubble of laughter that threatened to rise in his throat. Of course Sara's snorts, that grew louder with each passing second, didn't help him keep his mad on and he soon folded under their weight. Unable to stand it any longer he burst out laughing._

_ Slowly a grin began to spread across Greg's dirty face at the sight of his boss and best friend having hysterics leading him to believe he was in the clear._

"_So I'm _not_ in trouble?" he quickly asked, hope flaring in his eyes. It faded fast when Grissom shook his head._

_ "No," he began wiping at his eyes. "You're in trouble. I just don't know how much yet."_

_ Greg's face fell and something orange dribbled out of his hair and onto his nose which made the two of them laugh louder still._

Grissom found himself grinning now at the remembrance of Sara waking him up on his office couch later that night by trailing kisses all over the scratches and cuts on his face. It felt wonderful, her soft lips kissing away the aches and pains, and he didn't really want her to stop. But he found himself taking hold of her face and peering into her beautiful eyes, thoughts tripping toward what he would've missed if the compactor had finished the job. He'd been so close to either being maimed or killed and right then, as he tugged her to him, it hit him hard. Everything would've been gone in a heartbeat.

And now Sara was suffering through those same feelings, knowing now that an instant could change a life. She'd nearly been crushed in the car and was alive but the driver's side had barely been touched and Marcie was gone. How ironic, a word which had no place in a scientist's life. Fate, destiny, chance didn't mesh with the absolutes of their field and yet they all seemed to have taken up residence of late and, if he'd learned nothing else from nearly losing Sara, he hoped he'd learned to start taking things in stride. It might make his life much easier.

Shaking away such deep thoughts that were way too convoluted for a worn out man such as himself, he fixed his gaze on his life sitting in the garden once more and felt as he had the first day she'd let him kiss her, not once but as many times as he could. It felt then like his life was just beginning. And now his life was beginning again after almost being destroyed. He would give thanks until the day he died for making that so, for giving him what he wanted most, for giving him back everything he wanted.

"Gil?"

Startled out of his thoughts, Grissom turned then immediately came to his feet at the sight of Daphne Gilman standing in the doorway.

"Mrs. Gilman," he said moving toward her as she slowly entered the room.

"I was looking for Sara," she quietly said.

"She's down in the garden getting some air. Won't you sit down?" he offered pulling Rupert from the chair and setting him on the bed.

"Thank you," Daphne said as she took the offered seat, noticing he was avoiding looking at her.

"I-I don't know what to say," he finally stammered fiddling with the crossword cover. "Except that I'm truly sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. It is a tragic, horrible thing but what's done is done."

He looked at her then, amazed at the look of calm on her face despite the revealing signs of puffy eyes and pale complexion.

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "I've actually come to ask a favor," she said making him tilt his head slightly.

"May I know what that is?"

She gave him a nod. "Mar . . . The funeral is tomorrow and I was wondering if Sara would like . . . would like to say a few words." She looked expectantly at him.

He tried not to gape but was unsure if he'd been successful. "Well, I . . ."

"Please, Gil," Daphne urged. "It would mean a great deal to Ben and I. She was there . . . at the end. I just want . . ." Her voice faded off and she looked out the window. "My little girl is gone and I'd just like to know that her life was worth something to someone other than us."

Grissom hesitated, remembering how he felt when his life was gone. "Your daughter's life _was_ worth something, Mrs. Gilman. Don't ever doubt that." Solemn eyes turned toward him. "It gave Sara a friend, someone to learn and laugh with and because of that she was worth a great deal to me, to the both of us."

Daphne's chin trembled. "Thank you for that," she said pulling a Kleenex from the box on the table and wiping her eyes.

"Ah, I believe Sara's going to be discharged tomorrow but I don't know if her doctor will want her out and about so soon."

"Of course," Daphne nodded as she burrowed into her purse.

"But . . . I could come if, well, if that would be okay." Daphne looked up then. "I didn't know Marcie well but I feel as if I . . . owe her something."

She graced him with a kind smile. "I think that would be a lovely thing to do."

He found himself relieved as if a weight had been pulled from him and he had no idea why. Nor had he thought about what he'd offered. Leaving Sara for just over an hour had been difficult enough. What would it be like when he left her alone at home for longer? God, he'd be a mess. Maybe Nick would come . . .

"The service is at 1:00pm," came Daphne's voice interrupting his thoughts. "We wanted to . . . to put this time behind us as soon as we could but we had to wait for some people to fly in," she tried to explain, Grissom understanding how she felt. "Here are the directions," Daphne said handing him a piece of paper.

She stood before he could say anything else and looked out the window, Grissom moving to his feet and following her line of sight as it settled on Sara. He turned toward her at the slight hitch in her breathing.

"Marcie always loved when the sun came out after a rain. She said it made everything sparkle, that all the grime and dirt had been washed away to start things anew."

"I find that to be true of many things," he quietly responded then gave her a soft smile. "I'll make sure Sara gets this information."

Daphne silently nodded then left without saying a word and it was as if all the air in the room disappeared right along with her. Grissom slowly sat down and stared at the address in his hand.

It wasn't fair that when someone won someone else lost in whatever context it was applied. He stared at the directions wondering if he should even give these to Sara. She was in no shape to deal with such emotions, no more than he was. She needed time to heal, needed to talk to someone, if not him then someone else, before she should have to face something like this. Hell, he wasn't ready to face a room full of Marcie's friends and family so how could Sara? So why did he offer himself in her place?

Sighing, he rubbed at his neck, closing his eyes against the oncoming headache he could feel rising up between his shoulder blades.

"I actually thought you'd be back in ten minutes. Did you get lost?" came Sara's question from the door. His head shot up and he hurried toward her, kissing her forehead and wheeling her into the room.

"I did," he answered with a sheepish grin as he helped her sit down at the table. "I got lost in memories. I've been doing that a lot lately."

"I've started down that road myself," she confessed noticing his blue eyes were a bit red. She held onto him. "I missed you."

"Good," he said giving her a quick kiss before noticing the look. "Well, it serves you right. You sent me away."

"Only because you were becoming fragrant."

"True and now I've returned smelling like a rose and bearing a gift." He made his way to the mini-fridge, lifting out the Baskin-Robbins bag and depositing it on the table.

"Ooh," she smiled. "All is forgiven."

He laughed then, a soft chuckle that made her feel warm and cozy all over.

"Where's Catherine?" he asked, pulling out the cup of chocolate ice cream then removing the lid before handing her a pink plastic spoon.

"Ecklie called whining about something in one of her files. She sends her best." She watched him nod then shift his gaze back to the paper in his hand. "What'cha got?" she asked digging into her ice cream.

Looking one last time at the paper, he laid it on the table then sent a serious expression toward her, debating once again if he should tell her. But it wasn't right not to tell her. Was it?

"Daphne Gilman was here," he began.

Sara looked down. "Oh?"

"Yes. She wanted to know how you were?" he added, wanting so to detour around what he really should say.

"That was nice," was all she said as her ice cream became her focus. "How's she holding up?"

"She was . . . calm," he said with a shrug. "I suppose she might still be in shock. I know I am," he admitted.

Sara looked up then. "You are?"

He caught her worried eyes, hesitated, then forged on. "I wake up in a cold sweat every night wondering where you are only to find you're right there in my arms."

"You didn't tell me."

"You needn't worry about me, Sara. I'll be fine."

"Gil," she said, dropping her spoon and reaching for his hand which he readily took. "It's what I do, just like you worry about me. We're both stuck in this worry whirlpool. It's called us."

"And I do love us, you know? Even with the whirlpool as an added bonus."

She chuckled. "I love us more."

"Upping the ante, huh?" he grinned.

"Always."

Retrieving her hand, Sara set upon her ice cream thinking it tasted so much better now than it ever had before and wondered why. Could it be that somewhere in her psyche she thought she was dead and would never taste anything again, or was it just because she _was_ alive and with that came a heightened feel or taste or smell of everything? She would never know for sure.

"Daphne wanted to know if you'd speak at Marcie's funeral," came at her then and it was as if her heart actually _did_ skip a beat. The spoon halted halfway to her mouth.

"She wants me to . . . to what?" Her voice was soft and anxious, wavering as she forced the words out into the air.

Grissom shut his mouth noting the shaking of the spoon, not liking the wide eyed look of panic rising in her face. He'd done it now.

"Nothing," he hurriedly said. "It was nothing. I should never have said anything."

Slowly, Sara placed the spoon back in the cup and stared at him, her breath beginning to move quickly in and out. "I can't," she whispered. "I can't stand up there in front of her parents." She vehemently shook her head. "No, no I can't."

"Sara, it's okay. You don't have to," he informed her, a bit worried at the constant movement of her head.

"I can still hear it," she began, her quivering voice slowly rising, her eyes closing. "The metal bending, breaking . . . I can still hear it. I yelled at Marcie but she didn't say anything. I could see the other car. I could see it. I still see it." Scared eyes opened onto Grissom who was now kneeling before her. "Gil, don't make me. Please don't make me," she pled, tears overflowing and sliding down her cheeks.

Grissom pulled her into his arms. "It's all right, honey. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

She wrapped her arm about him. "How am I supposed to stand in front of all those people and show them that I lived while Marcie . . ."

Rubbing his hand up and down her back he shushed her. "It's okay, Sara. It's over now."

"That should've been me, Gil," she cried into his neck. "I should be dead, not Marcie."

Grissom hastily drew her back and grabbed the sides of her face as a sudden anger raged through him. "I don't _ever_ want to hear you say that again. Promise me, Sara. Promise me you'll never say that again."

The soft loving man who'd held her moments before was gone as fear rolled off him in waves stunning her into quiet and she quickly nodded then fell against him as she cried, feeling his quick heartbeat pound against her chest.

"It's okay to delight in being alive, Sara. Don't ever fault yourself for that," he roughly told her. "We live, we die and no one knows why or when. I'm sorry Marcie is gone but I would never wish that you had been taken instead. Call me selfish, cold, whatever you want. I don't care. You are my life and I found out the hard way that I am nothing without you. Please don't fall into the trap of 'what if's'. It'll only suck you in and never let go. It is what it is and nothing more. Do you understand?"

She nodded against his shoulder, knowing he was right, but that didn't remove the thought from her head that there was no scientific reason why she was there, why she was breathing. But the feel of his warm skin beneath hers; the sound of his emotional voice drifting in her ears; the love she knew this man had for her made her want to believe that there was a reason. But how could she wrap her head about that?

Easing her away from him, Grissom wiped at her tears and brushed hair from her face, his anger gone as quickly as it came leaving him troubled by his outburst.

"I'm not angry with you, Sara. God, don't ever think that. I can't stand it when you hurt, inside or out. I just . . . I can't go back to what I thought was going to be my life. So please don't disappear inside thinking you shouldn't be here," Grissom begged. "Please don't do that to us. I need you here with me. We can do anything together, Sara. We can get through this. It'll just take some time."

"But how am I supposed to wake up every morning knowing it was just luck that kept me here? Why now? Why this way?" she softly asked.

"Honey, I can't answer that. No one can. I know how it felt when I thought I'd lost you. I kept asking why, but there was no answer. No matter how hard I prayed or begged or demanded, an answer never came and I thought how unfair it all was. It took me so long to find you, to let myself love you and you were gone without even being able to say goodbye. Now you're back with me and I won't lose you again. Tell me I won't lose you again."

She held his gaze and slowly shook her head. "You won't. You won't lose me," she whispered.

"You once told me that you'd fight off Death to stay by my side. I'm holding you to that."

"I'll fight anyone who tries to keep me from you."

"Including yourself?" he asked as his fingers brushed lightly across her cheek.

She swallowed hard. "Including myself," she whispered leaning into his hand.

"I don't ever want you to give up. If you think you're losing, come to me or Brass or Nick. Don't let silence be your only out."

"I won't let it get me."

"Promise?"

She gave him an unsteady grin. "Promise."

He kissed away her tears. "We're making a lot of promises today," he quipped trying to ease the strain on their battered emotions.

"A promise is a good thing to hold onto," she answered.

"Yes. Sometimes it keeps you anchored when all you want to do is drift away," he said noticing her forgotten treat. "I think your ice cream is melting."

She shrugged. "It's good either way," came her answer as he nodded trying once more to ease her worry.

"Just keep in mind that tomorrow we might be going home to Hank, to our own bed, to our stuff. The guys'll come over and keep us company. After a week or so we'll go see mom and spend a few weeks staring at the ocean. It will be our time. After you've healed we can pay our respects then without all those people closing in on us."

"That would be . . . better," she said with a nod as she snuffled then attempted to blow her nose one handed and not succeeding very well.

"Let me."

Blushing at the notion of being unable to blow her own nose, Sara let Grissom take care of her, thankful she had someone who would willingly help her with anything.

He was a great joy.

Picking up her spoon she started on her ice cream again finishing it off in record time, a satisfied sigh escaping her as she wiped at her mouth. She was so tired, so tired of feeling guilty of living. But she knew what Grissom said was true – it's okay to delight in being alive. She'd said that herself many times to victims and survivors it was just difficult to wrap her tongue about those words when it came to her own survival. But then she looked up into those adoring blue eyes that could put her at ease in an instant and found she _did_ delight in being alive if for no other reason than to continue to see and feel this man before her.

He was her life. He gave her everything she needed. Never had she felt such love. It seemed to envelop her in a warm embrace and fight back the depression that sometimes threatened to devour her. He'd always had the capability to bring light where darkness lived, and she was so very grateful for the day he'd finally taken the chance and let her in.

"What are you thinking?" he softly asked as her eyes focused back on him with a slight flush touching her cheeks. He reached out his hand and she curled her fingers over his.

"I'm thinking that providence delivered you to me and I was fortunate enough to notice."

"Ah, but I was not aware of my good fortune," he countered, "much to my dismay."

"You were not the 'master of your fate'?"

He slowly shook his head. "Nor was I the 'captain of my soul'11." He smiled at her then rubbed the finger where her ring should be. "'Then seek not, sweet, the 'if' and 'why', I love you now until I die. For I must love because I live and life in me is what you give.'"12

Grasping tightly to his hand, she pulled it to her heart. "I love you, Gil," she said watching his eyes dance. "I love you as the flowers do the sun, as the desert the rain, and my soul shall never linger far from yours again."

"Promise?"

"Forever and always do I promise you that and so much more."

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_10__Baskin-Robbins is an ice cream chain in the US_

_11__Two lines from the poem "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley_

_12__Christopher Brennan – "Because she asked me why I loved her"_

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Well, I hope that worked for you guys. You can thank G and S 'cause they wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote down what they wanted. They can be pushy. I'm working on the next chapter and I hope, hope, to be able to post it by the end of next week. We're doing inventory at work which takes up a good chunk of time. Wish me luck! Thanks for reading and reviewing. It makes me smile.  
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	11. Chapter 11

_Well, Inventory is over and I managed to finish this nice, quiet chapter. I know I keep saying that there's only one more chapter but you never know. Thank you for all your wonderful reviews and for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy this._

_Onward - -  
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**Chapter 11 – This is a good place to be**

_**The next day – 4:00am**_

"Gil?"

He could hear her but it seemed so far away.

"Gil, are you awake?"

"Mmawake," he answered in a not too convincing tone as he barely acknowledged her moving out of his arms. It was the hiss of pain that brought him awake faster than anything and he bolted up. "What's the matter?" he asked blinking furiously against the weight of sleep still present. "Do I need to call the nurse?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I just moved too fast."

Rubbing at his face, he glanced over at the wall clock, groaned a bit, then back to Sara realizing she was staring at him. "What is it?" he softly asked noting she was clinging to Rupert. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Well, it wasn't bad but it was . . . odd."

Lowering himself back onto the bed, Grissom propped his head on one hand and ran the other lightly across her arm, waiting for her to speak. But when nothing came he cleared his throat.

"You fall asleep on me?" he asked around a yawn.

"I'm awake," she said pushing back into him.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked, laying his cheek on her shoulder.

"Is it possible that when you want something badly enough you can make it happen?" She waited a few moments for him to response then lifted her head. "Did _you_ fall asleep now?"

He grinned. "Sorry. I was thinking."

"Ah, oh."

"Hey, it's four in the morning. Cut me some slack," he whined.

"You're usually up at four. Remember?" she reminded him.

He hesitated. "Oh, yeah. Well . . . my schedule's all turned around. I'm out of the thinking habit."

"Sorry," she said not trying very hard to keep the smile from her voice.

Harrumphing, he settled back down. "Okay I'm done thinking," he informed her. "As a scientist I would say no I don't think it's possible to change things by merely wanting them to."

"Oh."

He nestled his face against her neck. "But as a husband who thought the best thing that ever happened to him was gone, who thought his world was over, to regain everything he wanted merely because he believed . . ." He stopped and took a breath. "Then, yes, it is possible. All I wanted was you and suddenly, there you were."

"But you told me you gave up hope," she quietly stated.

Grissom fell silent as regret filled him. "When everything pointed to my worst fears and everyone kept telling me it was true then . . . yes, I gave up that last spark of hope because I knew I couldn't physically reach you where you'd gone. And that damn near killed me. But I found, buried deep inside, an ember that still burned and I imagined using that to touch you in my dreams, the last place I'd be able to. It's all I had left and I would've used it until it, too, burned out taking me right along with it." Sara grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, his fingers lingering on her tear streaked face. "I don't mean to make you cry, honey," he whispered to her.

"You didn't. I just don't even want to imagine what it would've been like for me if it had been you in that car, you who I thought was . . . I would've been a basket case."

He chuckled. "I was. If I'd had a coherent thought in my head I would've been properly embarrassed. I'm sure someone will remind me of my . . . lack of control."

"Probably Ecklie," she said with disgust.

"I don't remember if he was here. Doesn't matter if he was," Grissom said resignedly. "One of his toadies will tell him."

"Cheer up, baby," she said, casting a look over her shoulder and gracing him with a sneaky smile. "Maybe he'll put his foot in it and you can pop him one."

A satisfied grin spread across his face. "I can only dream," he said wistfully then frowned. Dream. Sara had awakened him. "Did you want to tell me about your dream?"

She gripped his thumb and held on, seemingly mesmerized by his hand. "I was in a meadow," she slowly began. "The sun was shining but it wasn't too hot. Little daisies dotted the area and moved about in a soft breeze. I was sitting on a blanket and there was a picnic basket behind me. I thought I was waiting for you."

"Who came instead?" he asked thinking he might know the answer.

"Marcie," was all she said, her breath catching on the name. "She was as I remembered her that morning – her nose stuck in a book, hair bunched up in an untidy knot, a pencil behind her ear. I called to her. She looked up and smiled and I felt . . . I don't know . . . peaceful I guess."

"What happened then?" he urged wrapping his fingers about hers.

"She sat with me on the blanket and proceeded to tell me about the most beautiful field of flowers she'd ever seen on the other side of the hill. She told me about the colors, the smells, the absolute brilliance that seemed to shoot into the air with enough exuberance to create its own rainbow. Her smile lit up her face. She was . . . beautiful beyond measure. 'I could live here forever', she said, 'working and laughing with all the others.'"

"Others?"

Sara shrugged. "I didn't think to ask. Instead I asked if I could see those flowers and she offered to take me to the highest hill but no further. So I followed after her until we stood together on that hill and it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. A sea of flowers in all shapes and sizes, colors and fragrances co-existing in a valley that stretched as far as the eye could see. There were people there, the others I presume, and they called out to Marcie and waved and she was so excited. Then she turned, gave me a sweet smile and touched my arm. 'I have to go,' she said. 'This is a good place to be," she finished then hurried down the hill. But once she reached the bottom she turned again." He heard a sniffle and waited.

"What did she say, Sara?" he softly asked.

"She said . . . she said 'tell them everything is all right' then hurried off." Her voice was thick with emotion. "The next thing I knew I was here lying next to you."

Grissom pulled her even closer. "And _that_ is a good place to be," he whispered to her before dropping a kiss to her hair.

And then she began to cry and he just held on. He didn't know what else to say so remained quiet afraid that anything he might say could sound trite or cloying even though that would never be his intent. He understood the power of dreams for they took you places where your mind could work out its problems, where discoveries could be made and, sometimes, even answers could be found.

Now his beloved was huddled against him crying silent tears for a friend that may have sent her a message of happiness and peace the only way she could – through a dream. So no more words were needed. Only the comfort of understanding and the nearness of each other was all that was necessary as the both of them relied on the other to make everything better.

And that's exactly what he intended on doing for the both of them.

CSICSICSICSI

_**7:30am**_

Grissom was whistling a happy tune as he crossed into Sara's room, a large garment bag draped over his shoulder. Two hours after she'd awakened him from his first sound sleep since all of this began, he'd started awake from another of his own dreams with a muffled cry and gasping breaths. Quickly searching her out and touching her skin just to make sure she was actually there, he eased himself out of bed and tucked Rupert into his spot to keep her warm. Then he just stood there and watched her sleep, reminding himself of the times his dreams were filled with quiet musings, soft words and pleasant feelings that would make him smile when he'd awaken to her sleeping face next to his. Sighing, he turned from her and scribbled a note then quietly left for home. He had a mission to complete.

Now, a scant hour and change later, he was back noticing the duffle bag he'd brought in the day before sitting on the bed next to his frustrated wife as she struggled to get her sweatpants on and up. He raised a brow and caught the hard look she tossed his way as if daring him to stop her.

"I'm going to Marcie's funeral," she bluntly stated sitting as straight as she could on the side of the bed.

Remaining quiet, he hung the garment bag from the closet door and walked toward her. Giving her a slight shove back onto the bed, he wrested the pants from her hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked trying to keep her voice strong.

"I'm taking off your pants," he answered as he pulled them down her legs then off her feet to lay across the duffle bag, all the while trying not to smirk.

"I'm going to the funeral, Gil," she stated, inwardly grateful to sit down so she could hold onto something until her bout of lightheadedness passed.

"I know," he answered as he returned to the garment bag and pulled down the zipper. "But you should take a shower and wash your hair 'cause I really don't think you want people seeing you with bed head."

Sara frowned. This was not her husband, the one who so adamantly agreed with her that she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to do and should've been fighting her tooth and nail to stay in bed. This was a stranger in Grissom clothes. It was confusing.

He could be a quandary sometimes.

"Aren't you going to try and talk me out of it?" she asked watching him pull out two small toiletry bags and place them on the table.

"Nope," came his simple answer.

She tilted her head, curious now. "How come?"

Grissom gave her a look. "It's your decision to make, Sara, and I will go along with whatever you decide."

"But I . . . yesterday you were . . ." She trailed off. "But I should be resting," she finally came up with.

He nodded. "Yes, you should. But if I asked would you stay home?"

"No," she answered after a moment.

He shrugged. "Then why waste the energy?"

Sara frowned again and looked toward her lap wondering if she'd ever think clearly again.

"Which one, my dear?" Grissom asked, drawing her attention back to him and the soft smile gracing his lips.

She gave a slight gasp when she saw what he was holding - her best black pants and a black skirt in one hand and one of his fancy black shirts in the other that would more than cover her shoulder sling.

He knew.

He knew she was going to go even when she didn't.

"Ah, I didn't know which one would be more comfortable so I brought both in case you weren't discharged in time," he hesitantly explained.

Her eyes caught his, caught the worry over her lack of response and she couldn't help it – she started to cry and his face fell. Quickly, but neatly, laying down the clothes, Grissom moved to sit next to her on the bed, arms pulling her toward him. Her free arm snaked about his neck and she buried her face on his chest, her cries shaking her entire body.

"It's okay, honey. Let it out."

"I want to go, Gil. I really do but I can't go. I thought I could but I can't," she managed to blurt out

"You don't have to go, Sara. No one ever said you had to go."

"I know, I know." She hiccupped a bit. "But I should go. I'm a strong person. I can do this." She held him tighter. "But I can't go. God, I'm such a wimp."

Grissom laughed quietly then shook his head. "No, honey, you're not a wimp."

"Well, what would you call it?" she asked hanging onto his neck grateful for his strong arms about her. "I freak out when you first tell me then I decide I should go then you do something nice for me and I fall apart again. What's the matter with me?"

"Sara, you've been through a major car accident. You've lost a friend. You're emotions are all over the place and, well, you're on some really good drugs."

"That's true."

"But those are just excuses," he mused then nodded. "You're right, Sara. You _are_ a wimp."

She could hear the smile in his voice and laughed a bit. "You're bad."

"I know," he said laying his cheek against her head. "That's why you love me."

Slowly she sat back up and gave him a watery smile. "It's okay, Sara," he whispered, tenderly running a hand along her arm. "Everything's going to be okay."

And she knew it would be okay simply because he'd said so.

_They'd come home early from a scene and were driving a lab issued SUV. _

_The flashers and siren had saved them precious time. _

_The hour was late and they'd been fortunate to find someone on-call._

_ And now they sat in the waiting room of one Venetia Zimmerman, DVM, who'd hurried the patient into the exam room and told them she would do all she could._

_ That's when Sara broke down._

_ "Everything's going to be okay, honey," Grissom told her running his hand up and down her back._

_ "You don't know that," she countered as she blew her nose._

_ "Dr. Zimmerman is very capable," he argued._

_ Sara looked up at him. "How do you know that? You've never met her."_

_ He hesitated a moment. "Ah, it says so on that certificate over the poster of a dog with worms." He pointed, giving her a half smile/wince combo. Despite how she felt Sara returned a bit of a grin. "Positive thoughts, Mrs. Grissom. They can do wonders."_

_ "This from a scientist?"_

_ He shrugged. "I have been known to dabble in fringe science__13__, wishful thinking and guesswork but only when the science doesn't work. Like with you?"_

_ "What do you mean?" she asked tossing him a questioning look._

_ A shy look crossed his face as he turned from her focusing on his fingers fiddling with an imaginary thread on his pants. "There were so many reasons why we shouldn't be together and I followed those reasons to the letter for far too many years until I came to a very unscientific conclusion."_

_ "And that was?"_

_ His hand moved to grasp hers as he looked up, his very blue eyes latching onto her brown ones._

_ "I was unhappy and I was making you unhappy and all I could think about was what if you left me? What would I do then? And when I came to you that night and told you of my fears, my wants and desires and how scared I was, do you remember what you told me?"_

_ She shook her head so caught up in his soft voice and the tender way his fingers moved over hers._

_ "You said everything's going to be okay and I believed you. All the barricades, all the walls fell away as if they'd never been and I couldn't believe all the time I'd wasted trying to keep you out and how easy it was to let you in." He pulled up her hand then and kissed the back of it. "And that's why I know Hank will be all right because he belongs to the both of us and how can he lose with the two of us, who have overcome so much, raising a ruckus in his corner."_

_ He smiled then and so did she. Cuddled in each other's arms, they waited for news from the very capable Dr. Zimmerman._

And everything _was_ okay. The gob of slime that was never truly identified was removed from Hank's intestines and, a week later, he was bounding through the house despite their best efforts to keep him quiet.

That night Grissom had been right. And so many other days and nights he'd been right as well so with all of that and so much more in their background she couldn't help but believe that he was right now. He loved her. And he would do anything to make sure everything was okay. He'd move heaven and earth if needed.

"How did you know I was going to change my mind?" she asked looking toward the clothes he'd brought.

"I know you."

She looked up at him then. "No, really."

He smiled. "Your dream. Or, as my mom might say, your visit."

"Visit?" she said with a frown.

He nodded. "After dad died so suddenly, mom became very depressed. I didn't know what was going on and no one would tell me so I didn't know how to help her. Then about a month later I found her reading a book by Edgar Cayce14. I didn't know who he was at the time but she seemed excited about him. Then she started going to séances and readings. All I knew was that she seemed to get better, like the cloud that had been hovering over her since dad died disappeared. She smiled more. It made me feel better, too. It wasn't until many years later I found out she'd seen dad in her dreams. He'd talked to her, told her he loved and missed the both of us."

"Why didn't she tell you?"

He shrugged. "I always thought it was because she wanted to keep him to herself for as long as she could. I lost a father but she lost a soul mate." He looked at her then. "And having suffered from losing both, losing a soul mate is far worse." Sara looked at him again. "I hadn't thought of that in years until this morning when you told me about your dream. I knew then that you would change your mind." Then he smiled at her. "Or it could just be that you're very stubborn."

"Am not."

"Are too." He smiled at her and kissed the end of her nose.

"Do you think I should go?" she asked. "Don't tell me it's my decision. I really want to know what you think."

A sigh erupted for he knew he was stepping into it now. But, above all else, he wanted to be honest with her. It was his job to be there to salve her conscious, to keep her grounded. But it was also his duty to tell her what _he_ needed and, this time, he really thought she needed to stay home.

"Gil?" she repeated when he took too long to answer.

Grinning at her, he ran a finger lightly over the cuts and bruises on her face. "It's only been four days since your accident and three of those days you've been thinking of me. You need to think of yourself now."

"But it makes me feel better to help you."

"And I thank you for that, honey," he answered. "You help me more than you know. But we need to center on _you_ now. Get you back on your feet both literally and figuratively. I don't think going to a place or being with people who will remind you of what happened, is a very good idea, at least not right now. And if you decide not to go that doesn't mean you care any less. It means you need to look after yourself before you can look after others and that includes me. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah," she said. "I just wanted to hear someone else say it." She leaned back against his chest and he held her close. "I was so sure this morning. The dream made me feel . . . better about things." She sighed. "I don't know."

"It's okay. That's what I'm here for you know. I'll be the ear that listens; the hands that hold; the voice of reason when you stray too far from the path. And in helping you, I'll help myself. I'm certain of both." He stopped himself and rested his cheek on the top of her head. "I miss that," he sadly said.

"What?"

"Certainty. It used to be a constant in our lives. Now I'm riddled with doubt and anxiety."

Pulling her hand from his neck she placed it against his cheek. "There are still some certainties," she stated smiling at his puzzled look. "I will always crave your touch, your presence, your smile." She gave him a light kiss then looked deeply into his expressive eyes. "But above all you should _always_ be certain of my love for you. That will never change no matter what the world flings at us."

The overwhelming love Grissom had for this woman embraced him in a rush of warmth and he had to blink back tears that suddenly welled up in his eyes. He never tired of the feeling, thinking it seemed sweeter now than before, weaving itself even deeper into his being.

Without a word, he pulled her close once again and listened to her breaths, reveling in the comfort they brought and the perfect moment they created. They were both where they were supposed to be – in each others arms, hearts beating as one, willing and able to fight off anything and anyone who had the gall to split them apart. He may have doubts about life in general but he would never doubt her ability to soothe his soul.

This was a good place to be.

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_13__ Fringe science, or questionable science, is scientific inquiry in an established field of study that departs significantly from mainstream or orthodox theories and is classified in the 'fringes' of a credible mainstream academic discipline._

_14__Edgar Cayce was an American who claimed to be a psychic with the ability to channel answers to questions on subjects while in a self-induced trance._

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Thank you again for reading and reviewing. We in the homestretch now. I hope to have the next chapter up by Thursday. Enjoy!  
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	12. Chapter 12

_Ah, the homestretch at last. If I'd had my way this would've been a lot shorter. However, I don't thing it would've been as good so it's all your fault, all you guys that gave me such wonderful reviews and pushed me on to add more and more. A GREAT BIG THANK YOU FOR THAT! :-D Many thanks to MyKate, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, Nancy and everyone else who've spurred me on to wordiness. Your reviews have meant a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter. There's either a long Epilogue or another chapter and the Epilogue. We'll see how long it gets._

_Onward -_

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**Chapter 12 – I believe that angels breathe**

Grissom pulled his car to a stop and just sat there wondering for the thousandth time if he was doing the right thing. It seemed like the right thing when he and Sara discussed it on their way home a few hours before; seemed like the right thing when he'd greeted Nick at the door and thanked him for coming; and it even seemed right when she'd straightened his tie, gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him to go.

So how come it didn't feel like the right thing now?

He pulled out his cell and quickly dialed.

"Grissom residence," came Nick's solid voice.

"It's me, Nick. How is she?" he asked watching more people arrive around him.

"She's doin' fine. A little tired but that's to be expected."

"May I talk to her?"

"Hang on."

He could hear movement, then Sara's distant voice, and found himself relaxing a bit right before he started to feel silly. He'd only been gone for 20 minutes.

"Hey, baby," came her lovely voice.

"I'm here."

"You haven't gotten out of the car yet have you?" she asked.

He could hear the grin in her voice and shook his head. "No."

"Do you want to come home?"

"Yes," came out quickly.

"But?"

He sighed. "I should be here."

"Like you said to me you don't have to go."

"I know."

She waited for him to say something more but was only met with silence. "Do you want me to walk with you to the door?" she asked.

He nodded, a bit embarrassed. "Yes, please."

"Okay, let's go then. Check your tie."

"Done."

"Open the door."

"Open."

"Now, get out."

"Yes, ma'am." He couldn't help but grin as he stepped out of the car, rolling his shoulders to set his suit jacket in its proper place before buttoning it up, then smoothing down the front. "I'm out."

"Now walk with purpose toward the door, Mr. Grissom."

He clenched his jaw and cracked his neck. "Here I go."

Shutting the car door he stood up straight and started forward, his dark shades allowing him to watch the sad faces of the others who converged on the open doors ahead of him.

"There are lots of people here," he informed her. "I'm glad you're not here, honey. This isn't the place for you right now."

"And probably not for you, either."

"Very true," he acknowledged, stopping just outside the door. "Well, I'm here."

"Are you going to go inside?" she asked.

"Yessss," he answered on a sigh. "Thanks for walking with me, Mrs. Grissom. I needed that more than you know."

"You are very welcome. Call me when it's over?"

"I will. Rest up now. Don't give Nicky any fits."

"Yes, dear. Love you."

"Love you more."

"Bye."

Pocketing his cell, he took a deep breath and stared up at the tall steeple only to have his gaze travel back to the open double doors. Fiddling with his shirt cuffs, he forced himself to walk through those doors, removing his shades as he moved out of the way of people catching a glimpse of the oak casket near the dais surrounded by lilies and lavender. He automatically swallowed and found he couldn't because of the sudden tightness of his tie. His heart rate increased dramatically then sweat popped out on his forehead, eyes searching for and finding the lavatory. Excusing himself as he moved through those still entering, he quickly ducked inside and leaned against a sink trying to catch his breath.

This was worse than the last time and it occurred to him that he might be having a heart attack and tried to center chaotic thoughts on what was happening in his arm or chest and found . . . nothing. So his mind moved to a panic attack – racing heart, shaking all over, sweats, a sense of impending doom. Yep, all those things

Boy, he was a mess today. Would this ever stop?

Quickly splashing water on his face with one hand he thought again on how maybe this wasn't such a good idea and reached for his cell. He knew one thing. He needed to talk to Sara. But then it came, blasting into his head like a bulldozer. His dream. This was the dream that sent him out of his seat and to the floor at the hospital. The oak casket, the lilies . . . the lavender. That was Sara's scent. He could smell her everywhere. He closed his eyes.

"I don't need to talk to her. I just did. She's not here. She's not here," he mumbled to himself just as his cell vibrated in his hand making him jump. Glasses immediately on brought the words texted clearly to his eyes and he could feel his heartbeat slow.

"Remember I'm home. I'm not there. S."

Relief washed through him and his eyes welled as he kissed those texted words. "Thank you for that woman," he whispered ripping off a paper towel to dry his face. Taking a few more deep breaths to pull himself together, he felt confident enough to venture back out reminding himself that he was doing this for Sara and he would do anything for her.

Straightening his jacket once more, he stepped out of the lavatory then inside the chapel deciding to hide himself in the back so as not to be a reminder to the family of who lived and who died. He could see Ben Gilman staring straight ahead in the front pew and instantly thought of his own mother's expression when they'd sat huddled together at his father's ceremony. How much he'd been at a loss that day on how to comfort her even though later she'd told him how much he'd helped.

"Gil?" came at him and he snapped his head around, startled eyes falling on Daphne Gilman's pale face. He instantly rose to his feet.

"Mrs. Gilman," he said. "Sara sends her regrets for not being here. She was just discharged a few hours ago and I thought it best if she stayed home and rested."

"It's all right, Gil. We understand. Won't you come sit with us?"

He couldn't help the tortured look that crossed his face at her request. It brought back black memories of when they first met at the hospital; that time when everything was so uncertain. She frowned at him.

"No, no, I . . ." he stammered until she laid a hand on his arm bringing him to a stop.

"Please," was all she said and he winced at the urgent need heard in that one word. Who was he to deny her anything? She'd lost a daughter. He'd regained his wife.

Nodding, he followed after her trying not to see the looks sent his way as he passed each friend, relative, acquaintance. Taking the empty seat next to Daphne, he returned a slight nod from Ben Gilman whose eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Grissom swallowed hard cringing at the fleeting thought of how very close he'd come to being the one in his position trying to figure out how to live another minute, another hour, another day without Sara by his side. Reaching into his pocket, he clutched his cell harder feeling great love, gratitude and appreciation for what he still had. Mixed in was a thankfulness that there was no lingering sharp pang of loss; no memories, save his dream, of seeing her laid out before everyone; no nightmare of going on alone.

She was alive and she was home.

_ "Careful now," Grissom urged as he helped Sara from the car closing the door behind her._

_ "My stuff," she said as he started them toward the door._

_ "I'll come back for it once you're settled," he explained._

_ It seemed to him that he needed to be extra careful with her now that she was out of the hospital. No longer did he have a back up crew to take care of her if something happened; now he was all on his own and that frightened him. It wasn't that he was all thumbs when it came to taking care of someone it was just . . . this was Sara, his Sara and, now that he had her back, he couldn't let his own negligence screw up what he still had. _

_ Pushing away such thoughts with the idea that the guys would help if he asked, he fumbled with the keys then finally got them inside and over to the couch, a muffled barking coming their way._

_ "You'd better let the boy in," Sara began as she settled onto the familiar couch, "before he breaks down the window._

_ "I told him you were coming home today," Grissom answered as he made his way toward the sliding glass window, taking hold of Hank's collar before he could jet into the room. "You need to be careful with mama, Hank. She's very delicate. No jumping, no barking and only a few kisses. Okay?"_

_ An answering whine was all he got before Hank got away from him. He watched him scramble for footing on the tiled kitchen floor as he tore into the living room. An exasperated sigh left Grissom as he gave chase._

_ "Hi, baby," came Sara's voice as he came around the corner to find Hank lying on the couch quite calmly with his head in her lap. "I missed you. Did you miss me?" She was greeted with a few wet kisses before his head landed back in her lap. Her eyes came up to meet Grissom's as he smiled down at her. "He's such a good boy," she said with a grin._

_ "Yes, he is," he said mirroring her grin as he watched two of his favorite things interacting. "We'll have to do something nice for Greg for putting up with him."_

_ Sara rubbed between Hank's ears. "Oh, I don't think it was such a hardship for him. He loves our big boy," she said in a baby voice just before she reached under Hank's chin, pulled up his head and gave him a big kiss. She was repaid with a big slobbery lick. "Ugh," she muttered._

_ "Lucky dog," Grissom said as she raised a brow at him making him chuckle. "I have to get the stuff out of the car. You going to be okay?"_

_ "I'm not made of glass, Gil," she reminded him._

_ "I know it's just . . ."_

_ She reached for him and he took her hand. "Go get the stuff so we can take a nap." Grissom wiggled his brows at her. "To sleep. Nothing else but sleep."_

_ He pouted then kissed the back of her hand, heading out to the car. Grabbing their accumulated stuff - duffle bag, garment bag, and various other bags - he tucked Rupert under his arm and moved back inside carefully hanging their good clothes over a chair before dropping everything else to the floor._

_ "I think that's all of it," he said as he heard her grunt. His eyes shot in her direction to see her scoot Hank off her lap and try to get up. "What do you need, honey?" he asked practically bounding toward her and taking her arm._

_ "The bathroom," was all she said as he helped her stand then move down the hall into their bedroom, Hank dutifully following. "I'll be right out," she said pushing Grissom away so she could close the door. _

_ Smiling as the door closed in his face, he returned to the living room to retrieve her stuff, dropping it on the bed chuckling at Hank who stood impatiently by the bathroom door waiting for his mama to reappear._

_ "Everything all right in there?" Grissom called rubbing a hand across his fluttering stomach._

_ "I'm fine. You're staring at the door aren't you?"_

_ "Ah . . ."_

_ "Go feed Hank or something. You're making me nervous."_

_ "He's staring at the door, too."_

_ He heard her giggle, that happy sound that reverberated through the door into his ears, and he suddenly felt the need to sit down, the fluttering in his stomach rising up toward his throat. Grabbing hold of Rupert to keep his hands from shaking, he forced himself to take deep breaths, to clear the rapid beating of his heart._

_ There was no reason for this. She was safe and she was home. Hank had his mama and he had his wife and their world was righting itself once again. So why did he find that sobs were gobbing up his throat and the more he tried to stop them the worse they got. Burying his face into Rupert's, he sucked in precious air and tried to brace himself against the intense feelings bombarding him; tried to get them to stop before they overwhelmed him, but they kept coming. A hand on his back forced his head up, blurred vision taking in his beloved sitting next to him and he could do nothing but stare as if seeing her for the first time._

"_It's all right, baby. I'm home. I'm really home," she whispered to him as her hand moved up his neck and into his hair watching as his face crumbled and the tears came. Gently, she pulled his head to her chest as she'd done days before, Rupert falling to the floor as she rocked her man and whispered loving words to him._

_And he let her hold him, let her voice filter into him once more to smooth away all the sharp edges that had built up over the nights filled with dreams and worries. Relaxing under her touch, he found the feel of her arm across his back and her hand gently caressing his face was filled with a special kind of warmth and comfort he'd never found anywhere else. He would be nothing without her. He'd known that for some time for she was his anchor, his constant, the strength that got him through so many things and he couldn't help but be lulled to sleep by her heartbeat in his ear – strong and steady and beating just for him._

_Sara was home. _

_She was really home._

Grissom had awakened to warm breath sliding across his neck then kisses to his face and he'd flushed with embarrassment at the knowledge that he'd let Sara take care of him again. He'd apologized until she grabbed his chin and kissed him quiet then informed him that if he still wanted to go to the funeral he'd better hurry. It wasn't until he was in the shower that it occurred to him he hadn't been awakened by his dreams of loss and loneliness.

Could it be over?

Could it _all_ be over?

Laughter permeated Grissom's thoughts and he was brought back to the present, hearing the pleasant sound wrap about him. Someone was speaking - a young man who looked to be about Marcie's age with spiked hair and piercings in his nose and lip. He was relating a story how he and Marcie managed to get arrested, nab a criminal and win a donut eating contest all in one night. 'It was the best night of my life,' he said and something he would never forget.

As the young man stepped down a middle-aged woman took his place and introduced herself as a teacher who always knew Marcie would make a fine botanist, car salesman, flirt, janitor, doctor, truck driver, librarian or dog walker. 'Because,' she said, 'Marcie was all those things and so much more. Whatever she set her mind to would be done.'

And so it went. Person after person, story after story, some funny and some sad, bringing to life that which was Marcie Gilman for those in the room who hadn't known her very well and Grissom, once again, marveled at the similarities between she and Sara.

He'd always known that Sara was a smart person – having understood that after the first question she'd tossed his way oh so many years ago. But he learned that she could do anything that got her attention; have anyone she wanted and the question rose again as to what she saw in him? What made her love him so and continue to do so, even after all these years? He was older, set in his ways, driven and absent minded. How could someone who had the world before her even consider him for husband material? But she had and he was so ever thankful for that.

"_Your mother has a lot of dirt on you," Sara teased as she squeezed in next to Grissom in his childhood bed. "And she's willing to dish."_

"_I'm going to have to talk to mom," he said with a bit of dismay lacing his words. _"_What did she tell you this time?"_

_ "She told me that your first crush was Penny Craten but she broke your heart when she picked getting a kitten over coming to your 3__rd__ birthday party."_

_ "That hurt."_

_ "She also showed me the first butterfly you mounted."_

_ "Limenitis archippus. A Viceroy. I found him lying on the ground. I kept him in my room for a week until I finally figured out he'd gone to butterfly heaven then, with dad's help, we mounted it for mom's birthday. You didn't see the glue and Popsicle sticks did you?"_

_ "No."_

_ "Good."_

_ "Why?"_

_ He shrugged. "I accidentally broke its wing and we had to do a little surgery to get it back together. Mom doesn't know," he said in a hushed voice._

_ Sara pretended to lock her lips. "I'll never tell."_

_ "Good or I'd have to punish you." _

_ She smirked at him. "Punish me, huh? Well, I may have to rethink this. Is this the sign for butterfly?" she asked as she moved her fingers in the air.  
_

_ Feigning disgust, he shook his head. "Mrs. Grissom, you are a naughty girl."_

_ "Yes, I am," she said with a throaty laugh which sent tingles up and down his spine._

_ "What else did mom tell you?" he queried unsure if he really wanted to know._

_ "She told me that the older you got the quieter you got, especially after your dad died, as if you were just trying to blend in."_

_ He frowned a bit. "I was," he admitted._

_ "Why?"_

_ He shrugged. "I didn't like to draw attention to myself. The safest way was to move my way through everything quietly."_

"_Which must've been difficult since you were so smart."_

"_I managed."_

"_Well, _I_ find you very interesting."_

_His brows furrowed. "Why?"_

"_You've got to be kidding?" she said with a short laugh, propping up her head with a hand. "You are one of a handful of forensic entomologists in the world. You have an encyclopedic knowledge of everything. You can cook. You do laundry. You love baseball and old sci-fi movies. You have a quote or piece of poetry for every occasion. You're a deep thinker with a thirst to learn and the ability to teach what you learn."_

"_A lot of people can teach."_

_She nodded. "Yes, a lot of people can teach but not well. Look at Nick, Warrick and Greg. And me. You've taught us so much and we are very thankful."_

_Grissom pressed his lips together and gave her a slight nod. "You're all very smart."_

_She smiled at him. "You keep bugs in your house, for God's sake, and you race cockroaches. I've never met anyone that did that."_

"_Barney Tinsdale," he said causing her to frown. _

"_Who?"_

"_He was the first person I knew that had bugs in his house. He had an ant farm. I came home and begged mom for weeks to let me have one until she finally relented and took me to Ringling Toys. By the end of the day, I had my own farm and it was bigger than Barney's. I kept it active for four years until Barney's dog, Champ, broke it."_

"_Ooh. Ants in the house?"_

"_All over. It took us two weeks to get rid of them. After that my bugs were kept out in the shed."_

"_You see that's interesting and makes up what you are."_

"_You aren't just a wallflower, Sara," he said grabbing hold of her hand as it traced a pattern over his chest. "Your life, while dark and scary sometimes, didn't take away any of your curiosity or smarts. You persevered where others would've failed. That makes any piece of poetry pale in comparison. I know that you are a compassionate, giving person who, for some reason, loves me. I know that anyone on the team would die for you, including me. You instill trust with your ability to work hard and help others."_

_He watched her face light up then blush slightly at his praise._

"_All you need to know about me," he said running his fingers over her face, "is that I'm so glad you waited for me for I don't know what I'd do with myself if you weren't here. I don't want to go back to the way I was. I only want to be here, with you. And because you're here, we're here together, everything will always work out."_

"_Are you wearing those rose colored glasses again?" she asked with a laugh._

_He raised a brow at her. "I finally figured out that anything is possible."_

"_And when did that happen?"_

_He moved then to look her straight in the eyes. "About the time you let me kiss you over and over and didn't ask me to stop."_

_She kissed him then, over and over again, and he never said stop._

As the memory of her kisses, sweet and loving, filled him he heard voices singing and sat up straighter, suddenly aware of the inane grin on his face and how inappropriate it all was for him to be thinking of Sara when he should be thinking of Marcie. Feeling someone's eyes on him, he found Daphne looking at him. Flushing a bit, he looked down thinking the button on his jacket might need to be replaced sometime soon.

"'Are you gently sleeping

here inside my dream?

And isn't faith believing

all power can't be seen?

As my heart holds you,

just one beat away,

I cherish all you gave me every day.

'cause you are mine forever love,

watching me from up above.

And I believe that angels breathe

and that love will live on and never leave'.15"

Grissom took in the lyric and raised his head. How close he'd come to the end of things. How close he'd come to never seeing her smile again, never hearing her laugh, never feeling her soft touch easing him back to sleep when the day's events brought him nothing but nightmares and migraines. How close he'd come to the moments in his dream, to the never ending gaping fissure that would've taken him into its depths and eaten his very soul.

So close.

He clutched at his cell, at the message there, then wiped at his eyes, soon to feel a hand on his arm. Looking up he found a tissue being handed to him, Daphne sending a gentle smile along with it. He gave her a thank you then leaned closer to her.

"Would it be all right if-if I say something?" he asked of her.

Daphne's solemn eyes graced him with an understanding look. "I was hoping you would."

The song came to a quiet conclusion and the singers left the podium, Daphne gently urging Grissom up. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his jacket and mounted the steps, hands clasping the sides of the dais as he looked out over a sea of unfamiliar faces all staring at him with a look of expectation. For a moment he wished Sara was there with him. He cleared his throat.

"I only met Marcie on a few occasions but she always surprised me. I was surprised by the fact that she had such a vast knowledge of things for one so young. I was surprised that the more she learned the more she wanted to know, sopping up information like a sponge. Being someone who likes to learn new things it was quite refreshing for me.

"Then I remembered that I'd already met a person just like her many years before – my wife, Sara - a person who engaged my mind as well as my eyes and it does not surprise me that the two of them became great friends." He could hear a slight mumble throughout the crowd but pushed on. Now they probably knew who he was.

"Marcie made Sara laugh, gave her a place to go if I became too much and a person to talk to when the job or life took over. Because of that, and a lot of other little things, Marcie meant a great deal to me because she meant a great deal to . . ."

Words trailed to a stop leaving his mouth open, eyes suddenly fixed on the back of the chapel at the sight before him. Heads turned to see what had captured his attention and they found a tall brunette standing nervously in the doorway, a young man helping her into the last pew before slipping through the door.

She was here.

Sara was here.

Then she smiled at him and it was as if whatever had taken his tongue hostage gave up and he quickly closed his gaping mouth, glancing about the gathered to finally fall on Daphne.

"Go on," she mouthed waiting for Grissom to regain his composure.

He nodded. "Ah, they-they are both a joy, Marcie and Sara," he began again, "a living example of what you can do when you apply yourself. And I like to think that Marcie is here now, still learning as she watches over us all – smiling at our antics, crying at our losses and always aware of how much everyone loves her."

He could see heads bob in acknowledgment and debated if he should step down or continue. What he wanted to say hadn't meant to be said in front of Sara but, then, she would hear it eventually. He looked toward the Gilmans who eyed him carefully and continued on.

"Recently I was given a piece of advice that I failed to appreciate at the time and, only in the last few days, have come to understand. It sounds harsh and may even bring a wave of anger but it is something that we all should hear." Grissom shifted his gaze back to Sara, a puzzled expression on her bruised face. He winced at the memories surfacing but forced himself to continue.

"I was at my lowest ebb. I heard nothing; felt nothing. I didn't understand why all these terrible things were happening. And I had but one question, the only question I could muster at the time. How am I going to breathe without you?"

She moved a hand across her mouth and he looked away, zeroing in on the Gilmans.

"The answer came from a stranger. He'd heard my question and it was simple really, something I should've come up with on my own but by then I wasn't thinking to clearly. 'You just do,' he said. When I told him I didn't know how he reminded me that, 'when you keep waking up each morning, when you keep breathing in and out, you don't have much choice except to continue. And, besides, she wouldn't want you to give up.' At the time it meant nothing. As the hours passed it began to mean everything. And now it is something I shall always remember as a helping hand that was greatly needed and much appreciated."

The rest of the gathered disappeared to him as he hoped to be able to impart to them what he had learned.

"Don't let yourselves disappear into that roiling black cloud that follows you day in and day out. Don't give in to the sorrow that pulls at you, that threatens to take you to a place you should never go. Let those around you help even if the only thing you want is to be left alone. You can't let what happened make you forget all that Marcie was – a good person, a good friend, a good daughter." He paused a moment to catch his breath.

"And, even though you'll miss her greatly, you are better people just for knowing her. She brought so much to you. Don't ever lose that or the memories you created together. Know that she loves you still and will always love you. And, above all, never forget to keep breathing because that's what Marcie would want. You have each other and that's, well, that's a good place to be."

Grissom held their gaze for a moment longer, nodded then slowly moved down the steps deciding he needed to be elsewhere and headed toward the back of the chapel. He slid in next to his beloved as another hymn filled the air. Sara's fingertips softly brushed his cheek and he gave her a half smile before grabbing her hand.

"Don't blame Nick," she whispered before he could say a word. "I heard your voice on the phone. I couldn't let you face this alone. I had to come. I had to say my own goodbyes to Marcie."

Grissom nodded and intertwined his fingers with hers as she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're here," came his hushed voice as he kissed her hand.

"You must tell me of this stranger sometime," she quietly said as he laid his head upon hers.

"Sometime soon."

CSICSICSI

The rest of the service followed quickly coming to a quiet conclusion, the crowd removing themselves from their seats and heading out the side door toward the cemetery proper. Grissom helped Sara up then edged their way out into the aisle only to stop at the sight of Daphne coming toward them. She smiled at Sara then gave her a light hug.

"I'm so very glad you're going to be okay," Daphne said. "I couldn't stand to lose the both of you."

Sara nodded. "Thank you, Daphne."

She smiled at her again then turned toward Grissom, placing a hand on his arm.

"Mrs. Gilman, I hope I wa . . ."

"Was that stranger tall?" she interrupted stopping him in mid-word. "Did he have on a brown sweater?" came her next question surprising him.

His mouth opened and he frowned. "I don't . . ."

"He was sitting in the chapel at the hospital," she continued her soulful eyes taking on a faraway look. "I didn't see him come in and he told me that soon the colors of the day would reach our hearts again and we would be able to look upon our life with something more than . . ."

". . . bleakness and despair," Grissom finished a distant look crossing his own face.

"Yes," she whispered. "So it _was_ the same man," she said thoughtfully looking up at him.

"I don't know how you can be so calm," Sara said with a shake of her head.

"I'm not. I'd rather drink myself into oblivion but when I awoke she would still be gone." She looked back toward Grissom. "I didn't want to believe him about the colors but your words . . . their meaning leads me to believe that you lost those colors, too."

Grissom exhaled a shaky breath and clutched Sara's hand tighter not wanting to voice all that he'd feared but finding he had no choice. "They melted away as if they'd never been. He told me I'd see them again but I didn't believe him."

"And now you do . . . see the colors?"

He winced, remembering the moment when he was awakened to all that he still had. "I do," came his cracking voice. "I'm sorry but I do."

"Don't be," Daphne answered. "Don't ever be sorry about that."

"But how can I not?" he asked. "Everything was given back to me but you . . ." He faltered and looked down. "I still can't understand why."

"And you never will because there is no answer, Gil," Daphne told him as he looked at her. "At least none that would make sense. I'm beginning to understand that now but Ben . . . Ben doesn't. He needs to know why."

"So do I," Sara softly said.

"Oh, honey," Daphne began, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. "We'll never know and we can't throw away everything that we still have on a question that will never be answered. Marcie wouldn't want that."

"But it's difficult to wake up each morning knowing I'm here and she's . . ." Sara's voice trailed off.

Daphne placed both hands on either side of her face. "Marcie loved life and would be very upset with the lot of us if we choose to . . . to stop breathing. Don't feel guilty, Sara. As Gil said, wherever Marcie is is a good place to be. Of that I'm certain." Without any hesitation, she hugged Sara once more then leaned into Grissom who wrapped his arms about her. "Hold tightly to her," she whispered to him. "She is your lifeline to this earth."

"I plan on it."

Pulling back, Daphne took a deep breath. "My Marcie wasn't alone. She was with her friend," she said glancing toward Sara who returned a watery smile. "And in the end it's nice to have someone close even if just for a little while."

"If you need anything," Grissom said as Daphne smiled.

"We'll be all right, Ben and I. We'll take your advice and let our friends in. No one should have to go it alone."

"Daphne," Ben called from behind just as Grissom leaned closer and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled up at him then quietly turned leaving them to watch after her.

"I don't know how she does it," Sara said watching the two of them disappear out the side door.

"Because she has to," he answered looking closely at his wife thinking that she looked awfully pale and tired and how wonderful it was to be able hold her to him. "Should we stay or go home?" he asked brushing a wispy bit of hair off her cheek.

She grinned at him. "We should see this through," she stated.

Nodding, he guided her down the aisle then slowed to a stop, stiffening in her arms.

"What is it?" Sara asked seeing his eyes take on an odd look.

"He _did_ have a brown sweater on," he said, "and his eyes were the deepest blue I've ever seen."

"The stranger?"

Grissom barely nodded wishing he knew the man's name; wishing he could thank him for giving him something to hold onto and wondered how many other people he'd helped. Something niggled at the back of his neck and he looked toward the side door and tilted his head. There stood a man, a tall man in a brown sweater. Their eyes meet and the man's deep blue ones sparkled as he smiled then nodded toward Grissom before shoving hands in his pockets and casually sauntering out into the sun.

"Gil?" came Sara's voice and he blinked turning toward her noting the worried look on her face. He smiled at her.

"Thank you for loving me," he whispered.

"You make it very easy," she responded kissing him lightly.

Moving slowly toward the door, they slipped out into the Vegas sun, Grissom glancing behind him. He wasn't really surprised when there wasn't anyone there to greet them.

* * *

_15__Lyrics from "To Where You Are" – Richard Marks / Linda Thompson_

_

* * *

Well, that was a long one and, hopefully, enjoyable. Thanks again for all your support. I should have the next batch up by the end of next week.  
_


	13. Chapter 13

_Howdy! A number of you wanted to see G/S getting away and recuperating. I hadn't written that into the original story but I thought it sounded like a good idea. So this chapter and the next (as far as I can tell the final chapter before the epilogue) will be set in Marina del Rey, California. I'm introducing Lily Grissom, Gil's mother. She could speak as well as sign and, hopefully, I make it clear what she is doing at any given time. I hope you like this. The first part is my favorite._

_Onward -_

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Happiness is a butterfly**

_**Marina del Rey, California - 8 days later **_

_**10:00am**_

"What are you doing?" came Sara's question as she felt the light touch of Grissom's fingers on her warm skin.

"Nothing," he answered.

Peeking through her lashes she watched his face as he trailed a hand across her stomach, moving up to stop on the pink scar visible where her spleen had been removed. He winced as he moved his finger over the steri strips on her puckered skin then leaned over to kiss it before resting his head on her stomach.

"Tired?" she asked reaching up to run her hand through his curls.

"No," came his muffled reply.

"Liar," she came back at him feeling him chuckle before wrapping his arms about her.

Currently, Grissom was lying between Sara's legs, the majority of his body flattened against the warm sand of a beach in Marina del Rey, California. He didn't really care what it looked like because this was a position that didn't put pressure on her ribs or her right hip and gave him ample room to hold her tightly and still let her relax under the umbrella, the sun peeking in every once in a while to touch her pale skin. They'd endured a few catcalls and a promise to have them arrested but, for the most part, they just ignored the world and centered only on the absolute lack of stress that had enveloped them in its grasp.

After his mother's insistence that they follow through with their visit they'd planned a month before, they'd flown to California where she met them at the airport with tears in her eyes and arms flung wide to gather them both up into her protective hugs. She promised to take care of them and that was something Lily Grissom knew how to do. She doted on them, doing everything possible to make them comfortable, even taking Sara to her own doctor for a check-up much to Grissom's delight.

It was like a slice of heaven.

"I think your mom is making lasagna tonight," Sara quietly said.

"Half veggie, half meat for the carnivore that I am," he responded.

Sara smiled. "You _are_ an animal."

"In more ways than one," he said. She could feel his cheek move against her skin as he smiled.

"Naughty, naughty Grissom."

"You love it when I'm naughty," he answered.

She sighed. "Very true. I'm just a bad, bad girl."

He shivered at the husky sound of her voice. "I'm glad I'm lying on my stomach or we _would_ be arrested."

She laughed then and he followed suit, loving the feel of her fingers dancing through his hair.

"We need to get you to sleep more. I'm guessing the wine didn't work?"

"Nope. Just increased the headache I already had."

A seagull careened overhead drawing her attention. "I could give you a one handed massage," she suggested.

"Okay, you've gotta stop talking like that when we're in public."

She giggled and looked at him. "I meant your neck, back and shoulders you sex maniac."

He looked up at her then. "Hey, I'm just starting to think along those lines again and it's tricky to control okay? You parading around in a bathing suit is ha . . . difficult enough but now you have to put it into words. I can only restrain myself so long."

She smirked at his bluster. "You were going to say hard enough weren't you?"

He stared at her a moment then closed his eyes. "Yesssss," he hissed out. "God, woman," he finished dropping his head back down to hide his blush.

She laughed outright this time. "It's difficult for me, too, you know. I'm not made of stone with you and your swim trunks showing off those legs that can wrap about me perfectly. You drive me crazy you know."

He looked back up. "I do?"

"Yes, sweetie. You always have and always will and you know why?" He shook his head. "Because I know you love me and that is one of the most arousing things in the world."

"I do, you know. Love you."

"Yes I do. In fact, the group thinks it's quite lovely."

"The group?" he asked with a frown.

"Yeah, Lily's card group."

"Mom suckered you into playing canasta?"

Sara nodded. "They're a great bunch of people. You should come."

"I don't like canasta."

"They play other things. Besides, I think you'd learn a lot from them."

Grissom's brow rose. "Like what?"

"Well, Rose thinks you should . . ." she began.

"Rose? Rose Hiller?" he questioned giving her a perplexed look.

"Yeah, Rose Hiller," Sara informed him. "She says that you should . . ."

"She's like 100."

"She's 94 and sharp as a tack. Anyway, she thinks . . ."

"I didn't know she was still around."

"Gil," she said.

"Hmm?"

"Let me finish what I'm trying to say."

He pursed his lips then laid his head back down. "Go on."

"Rose says that you should talk to someone about your dreams. In fact, they all think that. Patrick has offered."

"I'm not playing canasta."

"You don't have to play cards, just talk." She felt him sigh. "I found them very insightful. They seemed to understand how I felt when I walked away and Marcie didn't. They've given me lots to think about."

"Do you feel better?"

Sara paused a moment. "Yes, I think I do."

"Good. I want you to feel better."

"As I do you, baby," she said, letting his silence settle in for a minute or two, the sounds of the waves striking against the beach a few feet away coming to rest about them. "They all have 20, some 30 years on you, Gil. Rose has 40. They know a thing or two about loss."

Harrumphing, he held her tighter. "I talked to mom," he admitted. "You'd barely closed your eyes that first night and she pounced on me."

"But have you told her everything?" she asked.

He didn't respond. He hadn't told her everything. Hell, he hadn't told Sara everything. He liked to think that he didn't remember all of it but that was a lie. He remembered each and every agonizing second with a crystal clarity that he wished wasn't so.

In the three days they'd been at his mother's Sara had blossomed back into the woman he'd known before the accident – tireless, happy, passionate – while he could still feel the residual effects of all that had happened. It weighed him down and kept him from truly letting go. And it wasn't that he hadn't tried, he had. It was just that he was allowing his worries to sit at the front of his brain inside of buried inside.

It was exhausting.

It had to stop.

He just wanted everything back to normal.

_ "She's asleep," Grissom informed his mother as he made his way down the stairs._

_ "It's what she needs," Lily said. "You and I need to talk." She grabbed his arm as he hit the last step and dragged him into the living room. _

_ Grissom shouldn't've been surprised but he was. Perhaps it was the fact that surviving on less sleep than he'd get if he was working was taking its toll, or that since he'd become an adult his mother wasn't usually so forceful. Whatever the reason he didn't have the gumption to stop her and followed like a little kid, plopping down onto the sofa with a sigh, rubbing at the headache that had taken up residence in his head since all this began._

_ "Tell me what happened," Lily said her voice deep and serious. _

_He looked up at her then and debated with himself. Should he give her half truths or the whole story? Just hit the highlights or turn it into a novel? Did he really want to go over it again?_

"_Gil," she said taking hold of his hand. "You're hurting. I can see that and so can Sara. And I've seen that look before – when your father died. It took you almost a year to lose it. I don't want that to happen again."_

"_No one would tell me what happened with my father," he said, Lily seeing the accusation on his face._

_She pulled her hand from his and began to sign. "You were nine. A child. How could I tell you that your father's heart gave out and that he was never coming back? It was cruel. I can admit that now, but at the time I didn't know what else to do. I was lost in my own little world and I can't apologize enough."_

"_I'm not asking for any," Grissom signed. "I know _now_ exactly how you felt."_

"_Honey," she said brushing at his cheek. He held her hand thinking that, aside from Sara's, his mother's hand gave him great comfort. "Tell me."_

_ And he did tell her of those terrifying moments when Brass came to him to that dreadful, stomach dropping moment when the doctor told him she was gone. He then jumped to the moment he saw her lying in the bed, air moving in and out, unaware of the desperate time he'd spent wondering how he could continue to live without her, then finished with the funeral and the five days spent at home where he'd watched her like a hawk until Lily met them at the airport and wrapped them in her arms._

_ By the time he was done, he found himself, once again, wrapped in his mother's arms as he cried his heart out, trying not to think on all he'd left out, all he couldn't forget no matter how hard he tried. He would work it through, by himself. Sara didn't need to know. It was enough that he knew._

Lily had taken him up to the guest room and left him to snuggle up next to Sara, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. But just a few hours later he awoke in a cold sweat, his stomach in knots and his headache a bit stronger than the hours before. Creeping from their bed so as not to awaken Sara, he sat out on the back porch until the sun rose trying not to think on things unsaid; to think about how he had to do something to stop his mind from never slowing down.

Maybe he did need to talk to someone.

"Are you tuning me out, Gilbert?" came Sara's voice at him and his head came up. She only called him that when she was mad at him.

"What?"

"I said I think you should talk to them, the group," Sara piped up. "Patrick especially."

"Why him especially?" came his reply.

"Well, for starters, he used to be a junior high school English teacher."

"So that makes him qualified to pick my brain?"

"Maybe not, but . . ." She hesitated a moment then decided to forge on. "He's sweet on your mom and I just thought you might like to talk to him," she quickly said as he narrowed his eyes at her before raising a brow.

"Patrick Trowbridge."

"Yep," she innocently said.

"The man I've known since I was six?"

"Um, yeah, I think that's what your mom said."

"He's sweet on her?"

She was openly grinning then. "Oh, I think it's more than that." Her eyes twinkled and he pursed his lips then laid his head back on her stomach.

"Well, then I might just have to have a talk with Mr. Trowbridge."

She snickered then let her hand move onto his bearded cheek. She really loved this man and wanted him to be whole again. Perhaps Patrick would be the one to make him so.

_**2:30pm**_

"Gil, it's so nice to see you again," Patrick said as he clapped a hand on Grissom's shoulder and propelled him into the living room directly into the sight line of his packed dining room table.

"Oh, you have company," Grissom said trying to step back towards the door.

"Nonsense. These old fools are here all the time. You remember Rose Hiller and the Butler's, Ethel and Harmon?" he asked gently pushing Grissom toward the table.

"Of course," he answered nodding to the group.

"And Hinton is around here somewhere."

"Gil, how nice to see you again?" came Hinton Baylor's voice from behind making Grissom turn, another hand clapping his shoulder.

"What brings you by?" Patrick queried in an extremely noncommittal way causing brows to draw together on Grissom's face. It immediately aroused suspicions.

"Ah, I, ah, wanted to speak with _you_ actually."

"Oh?"

"What have you done now, Patrick?" Rose asked. "Has he been raiding the trashcans in the alley again?"

Laughter erupted.

"I did that twice, Rose, and I'm branded for life." He turned back to Grissom and leaned in close. "Found a brand new set of golf clubs and a mini-fridge. Thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

He grinned and Grissom couldn't help but do the same. He'd always liked Patrick; thought of him as a father figure after his own had died but, most importantly, as a friend. Perhaps it wasn't so bad to have him taking care of his mother.

"We could use a sixth hand?" Ethel said pointing to an empty chair. "Care to join us?"

Grissom held up his hands. "No, I don't really like canasta."

"We're not playing canasta today, my boy," Harmon proclaimed picking up the deck and shuffling. "It's poker day – dealer's choice, jacks or better, no limit betting. Sounds like that should be right up your alley being from Vegas and all."

Grissom's brows swept up his forehead. All these people were on a fixed income, some with more than others and, in some circles, he could be considered a professional. Was it right to take their money?

No, no it wasn't.

"Thanks but I think I'll just head back to mom's."

"By no limit betting," Patrick began, "Harmon means you can bet as many peanut M&M's16 as you like. And since you didn't bring a bag you can use one of mine."

"Peanut M&M's?"

"Yep."

Grissom hesitated. He did feel comfortable with these people he'd met on and off over the years and maybe they wouldn't _make_ him talk. Maybe all he'd have to do is listen.

"Okay," he finally said with a shrug as they all smiled.

"Take my seat, dear," Rose insisted as she maneuvered him toward an intricately carved chair with a butterfly cushion in the seat.

"You're in the catbird seat, Gil," Ethel whispered to him. "Rose insists that cushion is lucky."

"Why?" he whispered back.

"She says it's because her late husband, Manny, gave it to her."

"He did," Rose quickly interjected taking the seat next to him and handed out the bags of M&M's. "You remember Manny don't you, Gil?" He gave her a nod. "He told me that 'happiness is a butterfly that when pursued is always just beyond your grasp but, if you sit down quietly it will alight upon you always17. And he was right. He chased me for a year before he finally gave up and it ticked me off. So I did what anyone would do. I ran to him as fast as I could and we were married two months later."

"Could it be because Evan was on the way?" Hinton stated with a waggle of his brows.

"You stop, Hinny," Rose said with a slight flush to her face, turning to Grissom. "He's right," she whispered. "But I never regretted it. Manny and I were happy for 65 years until he couldn't chase me anymore except in my dreams."

Grissom flinched at that and looked away, wishing his dreams were happy ones as well.

Patrick took notice and motioned toward Harmon for the cards. "I'll deal," he said. "Five card draw. Everyone ante up. Two M&M's to start."

As the colorful candies filled the middle of the table, Grissom picked up his cards, then watched his fellow players munch down on the chocolates. "You know we worked a case once where a guy got mercury poisoning from eating too much chocolate while playing poker18," he stated matter-of-factly as he rearranged his cards.

"Are you always this fun at parties?" Patrick asked.

Grissom arched a brow at him. "I don't know. I don't usually go to parties."

That stumped everyone and they turned back to their cards while he hid a slight grin behind his. Maybe this wasn't so bad, sitting with his mother's friends, reacquainting himself with them. Maybe he could learn from them their life lessons and apply them to himself. God knows he needed some help.

"Your bet, Gil," Patrick said as he picked up his own cards.

"I'll open with ten."

"We have a high roller in our midst," Hinton said with a grin. "Play poker often in Vegas?"

Grissom shook his head. "Not much."

Knowing looks were traded amongst them which he chose to ignore deciding they didn't need to know how he managed to fund his way through cadavers and fetal pigs19 as a young CSI unless, of course, Sara had blabbed. Maybe he could use it to his advantage.

CSICSICSI

As the hours passed and M&M's were exchanged along with stories of life and loss, Grissom began to feel a little better, his headache reduced to a dull ache and his stomach quieted down.

Sara had been right . . . again. He'd needed more than his mother and Sara's ear. He'd needed the camaraderie of an older group of people who'd suffered and managed to come through with flying colors. Yes, it had taken some time but what he saw before him were five people who could understand life and all its foibles, good or bad, and still smile about what they had in the past and present.

By the time all the M&M's had been won or lost (with most of them on Grissom's side) they'd called it an afternoon, Rose reminding him that it was the cushion that gave him all the luck. He heartily agreed then flushed a bit when she kissed him on the cheek.

"You are a good man, Gil, and everything will be all right. Take it from someone who knows."

She smiled at him then and headed out the door, leaving Grissom quiet as the others left until only he and Patrick remained.

"You okay, Gil?" he asked, noticing the slight frown on his face.

"Um, yeah," he answered as he helped clean up the mess. "That was fun."

"You sound surprised."

Grissom shrugged. "Like I said. I don't usually go to parties."

"Well, it's always nice to have a youngen in our midst. Normally, we clean them out but, between you and Sara, I think we were snookered."

Grissom smiled. So, perhaps canasta wasn't always what they played.

"But I can tell that there's something else you'd like to talk about," Patrick said to him as he leaned against the sink. "And, being that you did come by to talk to me, let's get to it."

"No dilly-dallying, Patrick. I've always liked that about you."

"I'm too old to have long winded conversations with dozens of words when a few work just as well. Don't have the breath for it. Come sit on the couch. It's much more comfortable to have a heart-to-heart there than moving from one foot to the other on the cold linoleum floor."

After taking up residence on the small couch, neither knew how to start so after what seemed to be an interminable silence, Grissom cleared his throat.

"Sara tells me that, well, that you are . . . ah . . ."

"I'm in love with your mother, Gil, and I'd like to marry her." He smiled at the shocked look on Grissom's face. "I told you I'm too old for beating around the bush. There's one problem though."

"What could that be?" Grissom asked. He had no clue where this was going.

"Well, you see Lily has a son who hasn't had a father since he was nine and I'm not sure how he'd feel if I was to move into the picture as his stepfather."

Grissom pursed his lips and tilted his head. "Now who's beating around the bush?"

Patrick laughed. "Touché," he gave back with a nod of his head.

"I suppose you've talked this over with mom?"

"Of course. It's a big step, Gil, even at our age. I would never presume anything about your mother. She can get hot under the collar and when her hands get started cursing at me, well, I back away as quickly as I can."

"Very smart," Grissom added with a grin as he remembered more than once being chewed out by those flying fingers.

"Twenty two years ago I lost something very important to me," Patrick began looking off into the room, eyes settling on a small photograph nestled amid his many books. "She was my life, Gil, my Amanda, and I wasn't sure how I would continue or how I could ever love anything or anyone again. It was . . . difficult to say the least."

"I remember," Grissom said cringing at the memory of hurrying home to comfort both his mother and Patrick over the loss of her friend and his wife. It had been very hard for the both of them.

"It was tough for me to let anyone close for fear of being unfaithful." He chuckled then. "But someone found their way in and before I knew it had wrapped themselves around me. Once I got over the idea that Amanda wouldn't approve, it was heaven."

A half smile tugged at Grissom's lips. "I know the feeling."

"I knew you would," Patrick said finally looking at Grissom. "And in case you're wondering, I want to marry Lily because she is my light. Her smile fills my heart; just her presence in a room makes me feel whole again. When she touches me it's as if I can do anything. I don't ever want to be without it. I need her . . ."

". . . as flowers need the rain."

"Exactly." Patrick turned toward Grissom and held his gaze. "But if you think I shouldn't, if you are against this in any way, I'll step back. She and I will remain friends and nothing more."

Nothing more.

Grissom looked down at the carpet remembering how long he told himself that until he couldn't stand it any longer and, now, knew he wouldn't be able to continue without Sara next to him.

"You know she's very proud of you. Sara, I mean."

Startled, Grissom looked at him. "Me? Why?"

"Well, first of all she's crazy about you. And second she's amazed at your inner strength. She thinks you handled yourself well during recent events."

Grissom grimaced. "I slammed a doctor against a wall and accused him of stealing her wedding ring right in front of everyone. I don't consider that handling myself well."

"At least you didn't draw blood. They had to handcuff me to a chair after my fist had a discussion with Amanda's doctor."

"You didn't?"

"I did," he said with a nod. "He'd done something stupid so I flattened him. Broke his nose. Amanda wasn't pleased and let me sit there all night - handcuffed. I finally had to tell her everything, every single thought and feeling, before she would grant me the right to even touch her. I deserved it, every single rebuff, even though I'd done it out of love. Sometimes you just can't help yourself."

Grissom nodded then grimaced. "I couldn't help myself. I _wasn't_ myself," he admitted. "I almost lost Sara, Patrick. I did lose her for a time and it was hell on earth."

Patrick cast an understanding look his way. "I know, son."

"I couldn't . . . function. Simple things eluded me and then it all came crashing down around me. I was lost right along with her. And even though I know she's all right; I know that when I call she'll answer and when I step through the door she'll be there, I still can't shake the feeling that this isn't real. That she's really gone and my mind left right along with her."

"I suffered the same as you," Patrick admitted. "When Amanda died I saw her around every corner; swore I heard her voice; dreamed of her sleeping next to me."

Grissom looked up then. "How long did it last?"

"It felt like a lifetime," Patrick sighed. "But I do know that once I started seeing a shrink and talking about it, everything seemed lighter; everything started to make sense again. Maybe that's what you should do."

Grissom shrugged. "I'm very private. I'm not sure about sharing my feelings with a stranger."

"Then spill your guts to your friends. I'm sure they won't mind."

"Maybe. I don't know. I just want it to be over."

Patrick gave him a gentle laugh. "It's what love does, Gil. You will always be worried about something but the moment it's over you'll find breathing becomes something you have to think about."

Grissom's head shot up at that and he turned a surprised look toward Patrick who merely smiled back at him.

"When love is found, Gil, and then taken away, not by your own doing, that's usually the result. But in your case, you need to get everything out in the open, debase yourself if necessary. Apologize to anyone you need to and spill your guts to Sara. Tell her every agonizing moment. Let her share your pain."

"No-no I couldn't. She's already suffered enough."

"You have to, Gil. It's the only way to clear your conscious, to wipe away all the unease that has settled in your stomach and in your head." He saw Grissom frown. "You haven't told her everything have you?" He slowly shook his head not daring to look at Patrick. "And why not?"

He shrugged. "I guess . . . What good would it do? I have her back. She's on the mend. Soon it will be forgotten."

"It'll never be forgotten, Gil," Patrick stated. "It'll always be there waiting to swoop in and get you. If you don't talk about it, don't get it out there, eventually it'll consume you and that's no way to live."

"She might get mad at me," he suggested.

Patrick laughed. "Be thankful that she can."

Grissom looked at him, heard the truth in his words and the silliness in his, and grinned, feeling very foolish. "I've never been a great confessor."

"No time like the present," Patrick said.

Grissom nodded then sighed and rubbed at his forehead. His headache was booming now and had the telltale signs of a migraine. He was surprised he hadn't had a constant one all these days.

"So you love my mom do you?" he finally asked, pale blue eyes looking up at Patrick.

"I do," came his serious response.

Grissom recognized the look for he'd seen it on his face numerous times. "Will you treat her right?"

"Of course."

"Because if you don't I do know how to hide a body." He gave Patrick a tired smile, eyes twinkling.

Patrick narrowed his eyes. "That's what Sara said. You two worry me."

Grissom laughed at that then held out his hand which Patrick took. "You have my blessing. I won't stand in the way of love."

"Thank you, son. You've given an old man everything he wants." The next thing Grissom knew he was enveloped in a hug, one that he found himself melting into. It was one of the best feelings he'd ever had.

After a few moments Patrick pulled back but kept his hands on Grissom's shoulders, peering intently into his eyes.

"Just remember, Gil, that life is life and it moves along at its own speed – moving too fast some days and too slow others. It can hit you upside the head and rip out your guts then turn around and grant your every wish. It seems you're on the receiving end of wishes at the moment. Cherish it but don't ever forget that it can turn the other way, lickety split."

"It's hard not to forget that after all we see on the job."

"I don't doubt it. And because of all those horrible things learn to enjoy what you have and don't worry about the 'what if's'. That'll kill you quicker than high cholesterol."

A slight smirk formed on Grissom's face and he gave a slight nod. "Thank you, Patrick."

"Ah, I'm just an old fart who feels the need to share what little wisdom I possess. I spent a lot of time waiting and worrying only to find that what I needed was right here all along."

"You're quicker than I am."

"Ah, but now you know." Patrick let go of him then glanced at his watch. "Hey, shouldn't you be getting back to the little lady? I'm sure she's missing you."

"She probably told mom what I was doing and they're both having a fit trying to figure out how I've screwed up mom's love life."

"You know we could pretend . . ."

Grissom held up his hands and shook his head. "No. I'm not going down that road."

"You're right," Patrick said with a glower. "You aren't any fun at parties."

"You were warned." Grissom rose to his feet. "Thank you so much for everything."

"And the same to you. Now go home and go to bed before you fall over."

An unexpected yawn overtook Grissom and he quickly covered his mouth with one hand while the other held out the three bags of M&M's. Patrick pushed them back.

"Oh, no. I plan on winning those back."

"At least take one since you staked me," Grissom said.

"Sounds fair. Sweet dreams, Gil. You deserve them. Have a good evening."

He stood there a moment. Then a small grin began to appear. "I think I just might."

With that he was out the door, his grin getting bigger at the thought of taking Sara up on her offer to give him a massage – his version, of course.

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_16 __Peanut M&M's are a chocolate covered peanut in case someone out there has never heard of them_

_17__ A variation on the quote by Nathaniel Hawthorne_

_18 __Season 3, Episode 1 – Revenge is Best Served Cold_

_19__ Season 9, Episode 8 - Young Man with a Horn - __Grissom confesses that he came to gamble, needing money after spending it all on cadavers and fetal pigs instead of on his college girlfriend._

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_I hope you enjoyed it. The next, and possibly, final chapter should be up next Friday. Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed by opus. I truly, truly appreciate it. :-D_


	14. Chapter 14

_Here we are, folks. The last chapter before the Epilogue. I want to again express my great appreciation to all of you who've stuck with this story and given me great reviews. A few of you spurred me on to add stuff that I hadn't considered. An extra special thank you to all of you. Now, no more dilly-dallying._

_Onward ~_

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**Chapter 14 – As I rise above I see nothing but you**

_**The next day **_

Something warm stretched across his face. Usually the something warm was Sara but it wasn't her this time and, for the moment, he was too comfortable to even hazard a guess or give in to his rising curiosity. So he just laid there and scrunched up the comforter even closer to his chin and let out a long breath.

As the tendrils of sleep lazily receded over the next ten minutes, simple thoughts broke through to peak his interest. They ran along the lines of he was actually in bed as opposed to sitting on the couch or in the back yard; he felt rested for the first time in what seemed to be years; his heart wasn't pounding nor was he in a cold sweat and he believed that the warm something was actually the sun streaming across his face.

A sun high in the sky.

That got him to open his eyes then squint to find the red digit clock at his beside.

"11:00!" he shouted shooting straight up in bed, everything seemingly out of whack by that bit of information still clanging about his head. Hands rubbed at his face as if trying to loosen his muddled brain. 11:00am. He hadn't slept that late in years.

Why hadn't Sara awakened him?

Why had she let him sleep so late?

Why wasn't she here?

A hand scrambled for the cell phone on the bedside table and knocked off the sticky note attached to it. Glasses nowhere to be found, he held the note out in front of him until the words came into focus: 'Love you madly, hugs and kisses'. A soft smile came to him at the heart over the 'i' in kisses. He quickly dialed.

"Hey, sleepy head," came her sweet voice a few seconds later. "Finally decide to get up?"

"How come you didn't wake me?" he asked in a gravelly voice, running a hand through his hair.

"Could it be that you had taken your migraine meds and were down for the count and nothing short of a tuba blasting in your ear was going to wake you? Or possibly the fact that you've had about two hours sleep in the last two weeks that finally ganged up on you and took you to dreamland? Or maybe it was that sweet smile on your face that showed me you were finally having peaceful dreams that made me quietly leave the room to let you rest?"

"Are you done?" he asked as he leaned up against the headboard.

"Ah, migraine, tuba, dreamland. Yep. I'm done."

He grinned then. "I waited up for you, you know, for as long as I could," he quietly said. "I was kinda hoping for a one-handed massage."

She giggled. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry but Lily was sooooo excited she had to tell me everything about Patrick. By the time I got upstairs you were zonked out. So I owe you one."

"Just one?"

"Oh, one wouldn't be enough," she purred. He couldn't help the shiver that ran through him. "You only woke up once last night then fell back to sleep pretty quickly. Either it's all that sex talk on the beach or the group and their poker games."

"It had to be the poker 'cause the other would've kept me up . . . in more ways than one," he smiled as she snickered. "Okay, you're off the hook. Whatcha doing?"

"Lily and I are shopping for wedding stuff."

He chuckled. "She doesn't waste any time."

"She wants me to be her matron of honor," Sara whispered into the phone, her excitement obvious. "And Patrick wants you to be his best man."

Grissom's mouth dropped open, a shocked look taking over his face. "What?"

"That's what Lily told me. He called her last night and told her that he couldn't think of a better man to stand by his side." She waited but there was only silence. "Gil? You still there?"

"Ah, yeah, it's just . . . wow," he stammered. "That's an honor."

"He wants you to throw the bachelor party 'cause he needed to win back his M&M's."

That made Grissom laugh and it felt good. "He'll have to bring his 'A' game."

"He said something about watching the World Series of Poker to get some pointers." Grissom just shook his head. "Oh, I almost forgot. There's a FedEx19 package on the kitchen table for you. It's from Jim. Are you working behind my back?"

His smile evaporated as if it had never been and he sat up straight. "I was having him look into something for me," he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.

"Oh, well, it must be important if they sent it straight to you."

"That makes sense," he answered knowing full well what was in that package. "But I think I need some breakfast first."

"Best meal of the day," she said in a chirpy tone.

"Oh, I don't know," he said pushing the covers off him. "I think you're the best meal of the day."

"Gilbert Grissom. You are incorrigible."

"That's why . . ."

"I love you," she finished for him.

His smile returned as he slung his legs over the side of the bed hearing his mother yelling out Sara's name. "You're being paged."

"She's found something. Boy, oh, boy. Patrick might just have a heart attack if she shows up in that. Gotta go. Love you."

"Love you, too," he said barely getting it out before the line closed off making him chuckle. "Poor Patrick."

Pulling himself from the bed, he headed for the bathroom and a long, luxurious shower, pulling on some shorts and a Harvard T-shirt before giving into his grumbling stomach and heading downstairs.

Clearing the bottom of the stairs, he caught sight of the package sitting innocently on the kitchen table. It was bigger than he anticipated, the cardboard envelope bulging a bit. Deciding to put it off as long as he could he stepped up to the stove and proceeded to make himself a quick breakfast of oatmeal and toast. Ten minutes later he was tucking into his food pretending to be interested in the half finished crossword Sara had left behind when all the while his eyes kept drifting toward the package.

Sighing, he dropped his head then his spoon, scratching at his beard and wondering if this had been such a good idea.

"_Well, look who's here," Brass said with a smile as Grissom came sauntering into his office, a shy smile on his face as he sat down in the offered seat. "How's Sara?"_

"_Much better," he answered. "We're going to mom's in a few days. We had it planned before . . . you know."_

_Brass nodded. "And how are you? Sleeping any better?"_

_"Ah, yeah," he said without looking up._

"_Gil?"_

_Grissom knew he'd been caught and gave his friend a sheepish smile. "No, not much," he confessed with a sigh._

"_You need to talk about it?" Brass asked sincerely willing to help him._

"_Probably."_

_Brass grinned. "But you're not going to." Grissom shrugged. "Just know that I'm always here for you, Gil, whenever you're ready."_

"_Thanks, Jim."_

"_So what brings you in this fine day when you should be home waiting on Sara?"_

"_Well, she kinda threw me out of the house," he said with a pained expressed. "It appears I was staring again." Brass laughed out loud and shook his head. "I don't mean to. It just . . . sort of . . . happens."_

"_Remember she's home now. She can throw pots and pans at you," he reminded his friend._

"_Ah, but she's not supposed to lift anything heavier than a pillow," Grissom said with a grin. "And those don't hurt when they smash against my head."_

"_You two are a pair." Grissom nodded, grateful for that. "So what do you need besides a refuge from your angry wife?"_

"_Two things actually," he said. "First I wondered if I could use Gina . . . ah, her talents . . . I mean use her to do a sketch for me?" By the time that mouthful was out, Brass was chuckling and Grissom was looking uncomfortable._

"_You don't have to ask me, Gil. She'll do anything for you. She's had a crush on you for 16 years."_

"_I know. That's why I'd like you to ask her. If I say to her what I just said to you she might attack me in the hallway."_

_Brass laughed again and had to cover his mouth as Grissom blushed. "I can take care of that for you," he managed. "And what's the second thing?"_

_The red in Grissom's cheeks slowly faded and he lowered his eyes to his lap then cleared his throat. "I, ah, I wanted to apologize for, well, for making you have to pull me off that doctor. I don't know what happened. It's like that wasn't me and I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in any way."_

_As his apology made its way out Brass' smile faded as he listened, images of that time flitting through his brain._

"_Gil, look at me," he asked ducking his head to try and see Grissom's eyes. "Come on." Finally, he complied. "Don't ever apologize to me or anyone for anything that happened that day. It was an awful day and none of us should be held responsible for things that we said or did, especially you. I'm just glad I was there for you."_

"_Me, too," Grissom truthfully answered. _

"_Did Catherine tell you the same thing?" Brass asked._

_Grissom nodded. _"_She said it before I could say anything."_

"_And what did you do?"_

"_I hugged her," he answered seemingly a bit surprised at himself. "It seemed like the right thing to do."_

"_What? So I don't rate a hug?" Brass asked a hurt look on his face._

_Grissom smirked. "I've found out I actually like hugs so I'm more than willing."_

"_You know," Brass began holding up a hand, "I think I'll wait for Sara. She's squishier." Grissom laughed then. "Come on. Let's go find Gina and I promise to remind her you're married now."_

And Gina had been more than willing to help Grissom with whatever he needed, causing him great dismay when she winked at him. Clearing his throat to cover a laugh, Brass excused himself pretending that his phone had rung, ignoring the evil glare shot his way as he disappeared down the hall. Gina politely called out Grissom's name and he'd forced himself to turn, trying for a half smile but thinking it probably looked more like a grimace.

Inwardly, he shook himself. Gina was a number of years older than he was and he never understood her infatuation with him even after Catherine told him he was 'eye candy' to every age. When he'd told Sara, she'd agreed and vowed to fight off anyone who tried to lay claim to her man no matter how old they were. His chest had puffed out at that thinking it was mighty fine to have a woman who'd go to battle for him no matter what.

And now here was the result of running Gina's sketch through the system sitting on the table in a package larger than he'd expected.

Pushing away his empty bowl, he picked it up and pulled the tab, dumping everything onto the table, a loose piece of note paper floating to the floor. Retrieving it, he donned his found glasses.

Gil,

Here is the information I found. I don't know what you're looking for but I hope this helps you. No one else has seen this per your instructions. Gina sends her love. Hope you and Sara are getting on fine. It wouldn't hurt to use that thing called a phone to let us know how you're doing. Give Sara my love.

Jim

Grinning, he put the note aside then thumbed through the papers, fingers stopping on one in particular. 'Obituary' in dark letters headed the column followed by a few paragraphs before ending over a photograph. Finding the sketch, he held it in his other hand to compare the two.

Dropping hands to the table, he stared out the kitchen window, his conversation with Sara about Marcie and all those flowers coming back to him.

"There are more things in heaven and earth20," he whispered with a shake of his head thinking on all the things these last two weeks had turned upside down.

All his dyed in the wool truisms, his beliefs, his ideals – all were twisted and warped then finally broken into tiny pieces only to be resurrected by Sara's voice that wonderful moment when she called his name. His understanding of how much he truly loved her and how everything went dark without her gelled within his consciousness and he now knew in his soul that if she died he would soon follow. It seemed like too much for him at the time, too much information to process and store but now, now that it was all over and settling back down, all the tiny pieces were coming back together, reforming into a stronger man, a better husband, a new Grissom.

What had Patrick told him? Spill his guts? Tell Sara everything or it will always be there waiting for you?

He picked up the sketch again. ". . . than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

CSICSICSI

Sara scanned the area.

Nothing.

She pulled out the note. 'Meet me at the beach.'

"Very cryptic as usual," she muttered looking about at the yards and yards of sand and sea and no Grissom.

Well, she was here. Where was he?

Shielding her eyes, she looked again not seeing those soft gray curls, those luscious bowed legs and, thankfully, that hideous Hawaiian shirt he insisted upon wearing.

Nothing.

"Hmm," was all she said closing her eyes for a moment.

This could be resolved quickly with a phone call but the sounds of the waves making their continuous assault upon the shore mixed in with birds calling to each other as they rode the currents, was soothing causing her to relax tense muscles and just wait for her sixth sense to kick in. It always seemed to work when he was near and it wasn't long after that she found herself turning, opening eyes onto the pier a short distance away. A quick glance brought into focus not that Hawaiian shirt but that God awful hat he loved so much. A smile creased her face as she started toward him. Never in a million years did she think he'd like that hat but there it was on display, more decrepit than the last time she'd seen it.

_It was the only one left and he needed it now or, she was sure, he'd never make it back to their hotel. It wasn't what she wanted but beggars can't be choosers so plopped down her cash, grabbed it along with a large bottle of water, and hurried out to where she'd stuffed him under a tree with a wet kerchief draped across his neck. He didn't even look up as she knelt next to him._

"_Hey, baby, I've got some cold water," she softly said as she twisted off the top._

"_Thanks," he managed taking a few sips to swish around his mouth before spitting it out, running the back of a hand across his lips._

_She rubbed his shoulders. "Feeling any better?" she asked._

"_A little," he answered as he leaned his head back against the tree. "I guess I'm too old for mountain climbing."_

"_No," she said. "You just got overheated. That has nothing to do with being old." He peered at her through his lashes. "I mean it, Gil. I've seen you spend hours on end in the desert at a scene. In your windbreaker, for God's sakes, in 100 degree weather. I've never understood how you do that."_

"_Mind over matter," he said taking another drink._

"_That and the fact that you always have a hat on. What's missing today, mister?" she asked with a smug look on her face as she lightly tapped his sweat soaked head._

"_We're not in the desert?" he gave back with a weak grin._

"_Ha, ha. And, because I'm not moving another inch until you have something on your head besides your hair , I bestow upon you one emergency hat."_

_With a great flourish she produced the straw hat for him to see and watched a smile spread across his red face. He grabbed it out of her hand and slapped it on his head._

"_I love it," he said with a genuine smile._

"_You're kidding?" she frowned._

"_It's floppy. I always wanted a floppy hat."_

"_Okay, drink some more water 'cause that doesn't sound like you." He did as he was told and gave her a silly grin. "A floppy hat?"_

_He shrugged. "One of my professors had one. Said it saved his life once."_

"_How so?"_

"_As the story goes he was out in the jungle hunting bugs when he came upon a Silverback gorilla."_

"_Oh, Lord."_

_Grissom nodded. "That's what he said. But it seemed that the gorilla wasn't interested in him but his . . ."_

"_Hat," she finished for him.  
_

"_Exactly. So a trade was made – his hat for his life. He gladly gave it up. Two days later, a beautiful young woman came into his camp and what did she happen to have with her?"_

"_His floppy hat?"_

"_You are good," he smiled. "Said she saw the strangest thing – a gorilla with a hat on. Apparently he decided he didn't like it and left it behind. She'd seen the professor wearing one just like it and decided to return it to him. And what happened to that hat?" Sara shook her head. "It now sits in a place of honor next to his wedding picture of himself and that beautiful young woman who'd returned it to him. They've been married for over 35 years."_

"_So that made you want one, too?" She was confused but it wasn't the first time when listening to a Grissom story._

"_I figured that if I were to get one then lose it perhaps a beautiful young woman might be kind enough to return it to me." He pulled the hat from his head. "And lookey here but if my wish didn't come true." A slow sideways grin replaced his smile as he leaned forward for a quick kiss which she happily bestowed upon him. _"_Thank you, honey, for taking such good care of me."_

"_Somebody has too," she answered back kissing him again. "Now drink your water."_

"_Yes, ma'am."_

Sara smiled as she stopped next to him taking in his wistful expression as he watched the waves.

"I knew it was you from over there," she said motioning behind her as he flicked an eye toward her. "Because no one else would possibly have the balls to go out in public in a hat like that. It's all crimped and coming apart. It's not even the same color all over."

"I take great offense, madam," Grissom responded as he looked up at her.

"How so?" she asked.

"This hat was a gift from a very precious lady and it didn't start out looking like it was run over by a tank. No. If I remember correctly it was lying quite innocently in the backseat of a rented truck fully intact when said precious lady," he waggled his brows, "tossed me upon it and had her way with me."

"Oh, really?"

"Oh, yes. I seem to recollect something tearing but then that could've been my clothes being ripped from my body."

"Hmm. Was there any complaining going on at the time?" she asked.

"Not that I recall but then who had time for words?" he said with raised brows and an innocent look upon his face which darted away as he reached for her hand. "But now I have time for words and I would hope that this precious lady knows she means everything to me and so much more."

She settled into the sand next to him. "Tell me."

"I can say it best in verse.

As I rise above and higher still

all my thoughts, all my words

become scattered

and bothered and few.

But then there you are and will ever be;

our eyes meet and never stray,

and now, as I rise above and higher still,

I see, forever more, nothing but you."

"Longfellow?" she asked.

"Grissom," he answered pulling her hand to cover his heart. "A madman who loves his wife like no other and wants her to know that no matter what life throws at us I will always love . . . my hat." He grinned then and she rolled her eyes. "What?"

"You're bad," she said pulling her hand away.

"Did it ever occur to you that I love this hat simply because you gave it to me?"

"What if I'd given you a Mickey Mouse hat?"

"Then I would wear that."

"Would not."

"Would to."

"The boys would have a field day," she reminded him.

"They already do over _this_ hat. How could it get any worse?" he asked in all sincerity hoping she really didn't have a Mickey Mouse hat stashed away somewhere because she _would_ make him wear it and he'd have to oblige.

"Well, that's true," she admitted. Running fingers over his shirt she looked back up to see him peering intently at her. She tilted her head. "What?" He blinked and looked away. "Baby?" she said leaning up close to him surprised when he wrapped his arms about her and clasped her tightly to him.

"Do you know how much I love you?" he asked in a slightly quivering voice muffled against her neck.

"I do," she replied. "You show me every day."

"I didn't know," he replied softly, "until I thought I lost you."

"Oh, baby."

He held her a bit longer then pulled back, running a hand across her cheek, a great look of sadness crossing his face. "When the doctor told me that you were . . . that they couldn't save you, everything stopped working – my brain, my hands, my legs, my heart. The only thing I had left were my memories of you, of us. They kept at me when all I wanted to do was follow after you because I didn't know what I was going to do. I couldn't go home to an empty house. I couldn't sit and watch Hank waste away right along with me. I couldn't think. Nothing made sense and I just wanted it to end. I had to get away so I ran," he admitted. "I meant to run out the doors and never come back but I couldn't just leave you there. If I left that would mean it was truly over and I wasn't . . . I wasn't ready for that. I'll never be ready for that."

She cupped his cheek as he looked down and wiped at his wet lashes. "I would never be ready either," she admitted as he kissed her forehead then pulled her close.

"I found myself outside the chapel. I was numb and confused and empty and I just wanted to be alone to mourn for the life I'd become accustomed to, for the woman who made me whole. It was the worst feeling I've ever had in my entire life and I just wanted to wake up. Please let me wake up. But I was fooling myself. I wasn't asleep. I was already wide awake."

He let loose with one arm and she watched him retrieve a drawing from beside him. "It was in the chapel I met this man," he said handing it to her.

She studied the man's kind face. "This is the man Daphne saw as well?"

"I believe so."

"He looks like a gentle soul," she said feeling Grissom's cheek move atop her head. "What?"

"He died of natural causes 13 years ago." He felt her tense against him and waited, knowing she was processing this new information just as he had – with disbelief then remembrance.

"So you're saying . . ." She trailed off and began again. "It was . . . he was like Marcie, in my dream?"

He slowly nodded. "It would seem so."

Sara continued to look at the man. "I assume this came in the package from Jim," she said as he nodded. "What was his name?"

"Ethan Dexter. His wife was Emily and he has two children – Elaine and Beth who still live here. He was an electrician and Emily worked with the blind. They were married for sixty three years when she died and it left him bereft. He told me he tried to kill himself three times but nothing worked. He was at the end of his rope. He couldn't live and he couldn't die."

"So what happened?"

"Emily happened," he answered with a partial smile. "She visited him to remind him of what they had promised each other. That even though they were apart she would wait for him so they could have forever together."

"But that's what I . . ." Sara's voice trailed off.

"I know," he answered before she could finish. "He told me that after her visit he felt at peace with himself. He died two years later."

Silence hung between them as the waves moved in and out of the pier's pilings followed closely by a warm breeze.

"I just thought he was someone who'd lost someone," Grissom began with a shrug. "It never occurred to me that he was . . ."

"A ghost?" she asked.

"An angel," Grissom corrected causing her to pull back and look at him. He shook his head. "I know what that sounds like."

"No, no," she said tugging at his shirt to keep his attention on her. "There have been too many stories, too many sightings of strange occurrences throughout time to just dismiss this. You didn't dismiss my dream of Marcie. Why should this be any different?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "There weren't any wings or halos. He was just a man who tried to comfort me. I wasn't very receptive at the time but as the days pass I am reminded of what he tried to do for me and I wish I could tell him, could thank him. If only I'd . . ." His voice trailed off and he looked away.

"What, Gil?" she asked pulling his chin back toward her. He pursed his lips as if trying to find the right words. "Just tell me."

He winced a bit then leaned his cheek against her forehead. "I saw him at Marcie's funeral, standing by the door. He smiled at me and I felt . . ."

"At peace," she finished causing him to raise his head. "I felt it, too, but I thought it was just because I was there with you." She leaned back into him then, tucking her head along his neck.

"He left me there, in the chapel, and I hadn't really heard the _meaning_ in his words, just the words themselves. Nothing was as it should be. Nothing mattered anymore. It will be something I will never forget even though I wish I could."

"You don't have to tell me any more," she told him hanging onto his shirt.

"But I do."

"Why? Why do you want to relive all of this?"

He pulled back and took hold of her face. "Because I relive it every night in my dreams and it's slowly strangling the life out of me. The first good night I've had since all this started was last night after my talk with Patrick. He told me to tell you everything or I'd just lose it one day. I don't _want_ to tell you these things. You have enough to worry about but I want you to know what happened. I want you to understand why I can't sleep, why I have nightmares, why I can't shake the feeling that one day I'll wake up and find that none of this is true," he said pulling her back into his arms to hold her close. "I don't particularly want to wake up all alone in a white room, strapped to a bed. But most of all I don't want to wake up alone."

Sara's grip on him increased as she felt him begin to shake, felt his heart beat a rapid staccato against her cheek as his emotions continued to rise. She wouldn't stop him. This was a story he needed to tell and it was her job now to keep him safe and remind him that she was here and would be here tomorrow and the next day, and the next day after that.

"Tell me about your dream, baby," she asked. "Tell me everything."

* * *

_19__ FedEx is a package delivery company throughout the world_

_20__ Shakespeare's 'Hamlet' – Act 1, Scene 5_

_And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. _

_There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,_

_Than are dreamt of in your philosophy._

_

* * *

_

_All righty then. I hope you enjoyed this. It all comes together in the Epilogue that should be up by the end of next week. Thanks again for all your faith, sticktuitiveness (I'm pretty sure that isn't a word) and your reviews. They keep me going. Happy weekend. _


	15. Epilogue

_Happy Thanksgiving to all of you in the states. Here, in the Pacific Northwest we had a surprise snowstorm which kept me working from home for a couple of days and, unlike being at work, I actually had to work so that is my excuse for this being almost a week late._

_Be that as it may, we've come to the end of this story (unfortunately) and I wanted to thank all of you for being so responsive, helpful, and caring about what happens to G and S. The reviews were stupendous and helped me in all sorts of ways. Thank you for that MyKate, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, Nancy, Kira699, Moochicat, RocketScientist2, toothchick and all the others who were kind enough to keep me going. I completely appreciate it more than you know. _

_So, onward, then for the last time -_

* * *

**Epilogue – It's a good place to be**

**5 weeks later**

"I really think this is a bad idea," Grissom whined as Sara pulled him toward the sliding doors of Desert Palm.

"I don't," was her only answer.

Grissom stopped dead and nearly pulled her off her feet causing her to stumble. He immediately grabbed her then sat them both down on the stone bench just outside the doors. She rubbed his arm.

"This is a bad idea," he repeated.

"Why is this so difficult for you?" she plainly asked watching him give her a slight shrug. "We've talked about this and we decided . . ."

"We?" he asked with a raised brow.

"We," she repeated a bit sternly. "_He_ is the last piece of the puzzle, Gil. The last man standing. You've covered everyone but him. It's what you need."

"I'm sure he's forgotten me," Grissom stated, running fingers along her arm in hopes of distracting her. It didn't work.

"I doubt that," she answered with a slight chuckle covering his hand with her own to stop his movement.

"But it was over a month ago. Many other things have happened to him I'm sure that have displaced that _particular_ memory."

"Gil," she said looking directly into his beautiful blue eyes happy he held her gaze. "I feel every little ounce of agony you suffered, every heartache, every terror filled moment just in the telling. I'm quite positive that what I feel doesn't even come close to what you suffered. It pains me so to know that you face that night after night in your dreams. Yes, by your own admission, they are getting better but don't you want them gone for good? Don't you want to _not_ be reminded of what happened?"

"That's a silly question," he said with a frown looking away from her.

"Then why not take this next step? Why shy away from something that _could_ help?" He remained silent. "Do you feel guilty?"

Grissom looked up then and squinted at the blue sky. "Not so much guilty," he finally admitted in a quiet voice.

"Embarrassed?" After a moment he gave her a slight nod not bothering to look at her. Her tone softened. "Okay, embarrassed then. There's nothing wrong with that. I embarrass myself quite regularly."

"Sara . . ."

"I know what you mean," she hastily continued. "You, the master of control, went apeshit and tossed the poor man against the wall and, no doubt, scared the bejesus out of him. I'm sure that that man has faced rage, fear, grief and sorrow more than he'd care to remember. The two of you share a moment that cannot be undone but it can be acknowledged. You need to face him just like you did Brass and Catherine."

"There's a big difference between almost braining a man and crying on someone's shoulder," he declared pulling at his sleeve to clear away imaginary wrinkles. "Besides, they were easy compared to this."

"Because you know and love them and they feel the same toward you." He didn't respond forcing her to take a different approach. "Gil, this is the man that told you I was gone," she quietly said feeling him tense under her touch. "He's the one who sent you into a tailspin from which you are just now coming out of. So think of this as getting back at him."

That caught his attention and he looked at her then. "How so?"

She smiled at him. "You'll be standing in front of him with me on your arm reminding him that he was wrong. I'm the ultimate piece of evidence, Gil. I'm alive and he was wrong," she finished.

Grissom gave her a thoughtful look and considered her words.

She _was_ like a piece of evidence – a great big piece that held him tightly and kept him warm, that nibbled on his ear and whispered sweet nothings to him, that amazed him every day with her grace and poise and the love she gave to him freely.

He'd always thought, always hoped, that once Sara was home, all would be right with the world. But when his dreams kept on, dreams so vivid they stayed with him even after he awoke to find her worried eyes holding his fear filled ones, he found himself falling back into the disquiet that made him question everything once again despite her assurances that she was there for good. So he'd told her on the beach that those dreams were strangling the life from him and she'd done the one thing he couldn't refuse – she'd asked him to tell her everything.

And that's all it took.

Every ounce of anxiety and dread spewed from him that day as he relived everything from start to finish, sparing nothing, finding himself worn out and barely able to string two words together. It was a miracle they'd managed to get back to his mom's and then into bed where he slept for twelve hours straight with nary a dream in sight, awakening to his wife running fingers through his hair as she sat next to him quietly reading. Reveling in the view, he snuggled up next to her and held on tightly wondering how and why he'd gotten so lucky before drifting off again. Since that time his dreams were a bit brighter; the chaos that usually came with them easing; the heart palpitations reduced in their intensity. Things _were_ getting better all because he'd told his story to the woman he loved. So perhaps this would be it; this would be the last of it. Grabbing hold of her hand and intertwining his fingers with her own, he pondered all the things that he loved about her; all the things he still had to learn and all the time they had together for him to do that.

Sara watched him close his eyes as he nestled her hand closer to his body. The time for waiting was upon her, something she was well versed in. It could still surprise her what a deep thinker he could be. Before they were together he would totally immerse himself into things to the point of obsession. While she tried to get his attention and he tried to avoid her, she felt he did it to keep her at arm's length to save both of them. Later, when he finally decided to take a chance, those deep thoughts changed in their intensity and he turned into an almost spontaneous individual which delighted them both in all sorts of ways. But once in awhile a case would claim his attention or a particular fight they might've had would toss him backwards reminding her of the old Grissom, the one who hid behind his intellect to save himself.

And today was no different. Today he would have to step back into a place that held nothing but bad memories even though the outcome had proved quite joyful and she understood how very difficult it would be for her man. So, with great determination, she knew she would sit her until the cows came home if need be, waiting for him to come to a decision. And if that decision was to go home she would do so willingly if that was what he needed because she wouldn't force him to finish what had been started by a man having a heart attack and plowing into her car. She would do that and so much more for the man that held her heart in the palm of his hand.

As Sara waited, Grissom still considered, reasoning with himself that she would never purposely lead him into danger at least without her standing right next to him. It was a comforting thought to know that they would fight this battle side by side until one or the both of them were gone. It reminded him of so many times they'd shared, both dangerous and not, and how he'd never want to lose that. Not ever. Feeling a grin form, he clutched her hand tighter before peering up at her, seeing a puzzled look upon her face. He tenderly traced a finger across her cheek.

"You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Sara," he began, "and I'd be a fool to just accept what you give me as nothing more than what I'm due. You told me that I show you everyday how much I love you but I should do more than that. I should tell you over and over that you are the reason I wake up each morning; you are the reason behind everything I do because I want to be the man you need, the man you love. I don't ever want to give you reason to turn from me."

Sara opened her mouth to remind him that that would never happen but kept quiet at the look he gave her.

"Before I met you I'd closed everything off, kept my feelings hidden for fear of them being used against me as they had in the past. But you broke down those barriers and awoke the slumbering man in me, the one who wants to protect you and love you until I haven't a breath left in me. I want you to know that I _will_ protect you, all of you, as much as I can against anything that tries to harm us. And that would include me as well," he softly said.

She frowned and spoke up. "I don't understand."

"Yes, I want to go home," he began. "I want to go home and take you to bed and never again think about any of this but I know me; I know my brain. This will haunt me forever unless I do something about it. And here you are trying to help me rid myself of the last vestiges of our ordeal and I'm whining like a little kid who can't stay up past my bedtime."

She smirked then. "I find that very attractive you know," she said running a hand across his chin, producing a slight grin.

"You shouldn't tell me things like that. I'm a great whiner. Just ask mom."

She giggled then and his grin grew into a smile, loving how that sound filled him with hope and a desire to do better.

"Let's go home," he said pushing himself to his feet and dragging her up with him. "But not before I finish this."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I'll ever be."

She kissed his cheek. "Come on. Let's find the good doctor and then you can take me to bed." She gave him a saucy look just before a laugh burst from her when he practically ran toward the doors, his own smile matching hers.

A quick trip through the lobby then over to the elevators deposited them on the surgical ward, Sara feeling Grissom's hand clutch hers tighter as his eyes took in the familiar room. His steps hesitated a moment and she noticed him holding a hand over his stomach before he started toward the nurse's station stopping as the object of their search came out of a room not ten steps from them, studiously looking at a chart.

"Dr. Pentra," Sara called bringing the doctor to a halt, eyes taking a moment to focus on who was calling him.

"Oh," they thought they heard him say as he came to an abrupt halt when he noticed Grissom. He recovered quickly and let them approach. "Sara, how good it is to see you in an upright position."

"Tell me about it," she answered, ignoring his slight hesitation by flexing her shoulder a bit and barely wincing. "I get better every day."

"Excellent."

They both smiled then Sara looked toward her husband and raised her brows tilting her head toward the doctor. Grissom's great bravado just moments before had apparently slunk away for he found himself trying to work around a dry mouth and spit out something intelligible.

"Dr. Pentra," he began cringing a bit at the uneasy look the man gave him.

Silence fell again until Sara piped up. "We've been trying to contact you over the last few weeks but haven't had any luck."

"I've been on holiday," he explained. "Went back home to decompress. This job can just suck the life right out of you."

A quick jab to the ribs forced Grissom to step up. "About that," he said trying not to grimace. "I, ah, wanted to apologize for, well, for . . ." He fumbled to a stop then cleared his dry throat. "I had no right to attack you like I did." He looked down then back up, an anxious grin on his face. "It was a bad day."

Without knowing what else to say, he stuck out a hand watching as the doctor glanced at it then back up to Sara who gave him a nod.

Clearing his own throat, Pentra grasped the outstretched hand and shook firmly. "I will admit that you made me have to change my shorts, Mr. Grissom."

"I'm so sorry," he gushed as the doctor let go and held up his hand, giving back a warm smile.

"If I had a woman I loved as much as you obviously love Sara I'm pretty sure my reaction would've been the same. Consider it forgotten." He smiled then his brows rose up his forehead. "Oh, it's most fortuitous that you're here. Just give me a minute."

Grissom's mouth pursed as he followed the doctor's progress down the hall. "He's probably going to give me a bill for his laundry," he stated with a straight face.

"And you'll pay it," Sara answered back. "Scaring a doctor," she said with a shake of her head. "He's barely bigger than a minute."

"He seemed more . . . menacing at the time," Grissom admitted both looking up as the good doctor returned.

"I believe this belongs to you," he said as he handed Sara a bag. "We found it just yesterday. Now it's _my_ turn to say how sorry I am that it was lost."

Pulling open the bag, Sara peeked inside. Grissom watched as her eyes nearly popped out of her head and she clutched at his arm before looking back at him. He frowned at her and urged her to drop the contents into his waiting hand.

He was sure his reaction was the same as his mouth fell open at the sight of what now rested in his palm. Eyes closed involuntarily at the unbidden memory flying across his brain of finding it gone then rushing down the hall; the rattling impact of slamming the doctor against the wall then screaming at him to return what was his. He took a step back feeling someone grab his arm to hold him steady.

"Gil?" Sara whispered watching as he opened his eyes to center on his hand.

"W-where did you find it?" he finally managed taking a calming breath and looking toward the doctor.

Pentra let go of Grissom's arm as their gazes connected. "It had been swept under a counter in the OR prep room. We were working fast and sometimes things are misplaced," he tried to explain. "Someone was supposed to call," he nervously said wondering if he should start backing away.

"We did get a call," came Sara's shaky voice. "But there wasn't any information. Just come down."

Pentra shook his head. "I'm always telling them to _provide_ the information instead of making the patients ask for it," he said watching slow smiles overtake the couple as relief flowed through him. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as he'd feared.

Sara's hand covered Grissom's palm and his fingers curled over hers before settling an intense gaze upon her. She watched him closely and could've sworn she saw the veil lifting - the creases at the corners of his mouth were slowly disappearing; his eyes were brightening into that sparkle that drove her wild; and it seemed as if he was exuding a confidence she hadn't seen in him since the morning of the accident. It meant everything to her to have all that back and she turned a bright smile toward the doctor.

"Thank you for everything," she said.

Pentra smiled back. "It's the least I can do after putting the two of you through so much turmoil. We shall be so much more careful in the future."

Speechless, Grissom merely stuck out his hand again and was thankful the doctor took it, the moment broken when his pager sounded.

"Sorry," he said plucking it from his belt. "I have a consult. It's so nice to see you doing so well . . . the both of you. _Try_ to be a stranger," he added with a grin as he headed down the hall leaving them alone.

Slowly, Grissom uncurled his fingers gaping once again as Sara pulled her hand away to reveal the object that had nearly cost him his sanity sitting harmlessly in his palm. And he could feel it working its magic already as his being flooded with light, a light that destroyed any and all lingering bits of dread still residing in the tiniest cracks of his psyche forcing out the oppressive weight of worry over whether this was all a dream. It lifted him out of his memories and fully into the present for the first time since all of this horror had begun.

And it all seemed so absurd that a simple gold band emblazoned with a Celtic Weave and green diamonds was powerful enough to bring them full circle by merely sitting in his hand. From the dreadful beginnings of loss to the resurrection of hope, their life was a representation of the ring itself – there was no beginning and no end to either of them. They were one in all things, bound by devotion, faith and love.

They were anamchara22.

Soul mates.

As it should be.

Her voice came to him then and he felt warm hands on his face brushing at the tears slowly sliding down his cheeks and, as he looked up, he thought he'd never seen anything as beautiful as she was now – eyes glistening, brow crinkled in concern for him, the feel of her touch upon his skin. All of those feelings spilled into the smile that slowly crept across his face as he reached for her finger.

"Forever and always in my heart," he began, easing the ring back into its rightful place. "My soul, my life, never to part23."

She slowly pulled her hand from his and placed it over his heart. "For until the sun refuses to set and the moon refuses to rise, we will be as one, always and forever, in heaven's glorious eyes," Sara recited returning his smile.

And then she kissed him and the longer they stood there the deeper it became as they wrapped their arms about the other, not caring that others were staring, for right then they were the only two people in the world.

Grissom pulled back first and brushed a stray piece of hair from her face, his eyes never leaving hers. "When I thought you were gone, everything went with you," he quietly said. "I don't ever want to feel that way again. Please lie to me and tell me I never will."

Moving her fingers lightly across his lips then over his bearded cheek she gave him a nod. "You never will and neither will I."

Giving her a relieved smile, he kissed her again then held up her hand once more to admire that which symbolized more than the continuity of love but the endless circle that made up the two of them now complete. And he knew it was over – the closure he'd been seeking was now absolute, not because of his discussion with the doctor but because of a piece of metal that bound him heart and soul to another was back in place.

"What are you thinking?" she finally asked when he'd remained quiet for too long.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "I'm thinking deep thoughts and all I should be thinking of is how fast we can get home and carry on like teenagers before work beckons."

"Ooh, fun," she grinned then raised her brows. "That's right. It's my first night back. Maybe I'll call in sick. I know the Supervisor," she said with a grin.

Grissom thought about calling in sick himself – he truly did – but then decided they should get back to a routine of sorts. Working together would be good for them.

"I know him, too," he answered, "and he gets really worked up when his staff isn't around to keep him company. Especially one particular person."

Sara shivered at the look he gave her. The one that said 'I love you more than life itself'. She would never get enough of that look.

"Well, then," she began fiddling with his shirt collar before raising her eyes to meet his. "I don't want to disappoint my Supervisor."

He kissed her palm. "Never, my dear. Home then?"

"Home," she answered threading her arm through his as he led her back into the elevator.

The doors silently opened to the lobby and they quietly walked out into the Vegas sun leaving behind the place that held memories dark and light. And along with those memories came a new found strength that tied them together even closer than before reinforcing the idea that apart they were as fragile as a butterfly's wings but together they were impenetrable.

It lifted their spirits even more and brought a feeling of peace with it.

It was a good place to be.

* * *

_22__ Anamchara means soul mate in Celtic. Originally mentioned in Chapter 6_

_23__ Chapter 7 - Their wedding vows_

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* * *

Thank you all again. I'm giving myself a time out for a spell but hope to be back in the GSR world by the first of the new year. In fact I even have a few ideas for a sequel to this little ditty of mine but that may be awhile. So Merry Christmas to one and all and a Happy New Year! And thanks again for your support. :-D  
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